Old Scars, New Wounds
by cindy123
Summary: It's Mary's birthday. Dean is stuck miles away, John is drunk and Sam is scared. Something isn't right and Sam's about to find out just how not right things are. Hurt!Sam, Scary!John, Protective!Dean. Rated M because things get bloody.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, hello all! It's been a long time. A long, long time! Things have been crazy, and weird and I haven't been able to think about writing, but I'm back now :) I'm thinking this story should be about 4 or 5 chapters, but who knows. I surely don't! Anyway, I'm going to let you get to it. **

**Cindy**

**Sam aged 16**

**Dean aged 20**

**John aged 45 **

**Old Scars, New Wounds**

**Chapter 1**

_**December 5, 1999, Prescott, Arizona 11:30pm**_

John Winchester was drunk…really, really drunk. It happened like this only three times per year…the anniversary of Mary's death, she and John's wedding anniversary and this day…Mary's birthday. For Sam, it seemed worse than it had in the past. Maybe it was because Dean wasn't there, or maybe it was something else altogether. Dean hadn't meant to be gone on one of the days he knew his father would be over the top plastered, but a run for certain 'supplies' and a broken down car meant he wouldn't be home until at least the following morning which left only Sam to deal with their father's drunken depression. John had seemed off the past month or so…more distant and always deep in thought. It had been that way since he had come back from a meeting with a contact. Someone whom he said possibly had information on the thing that had killed his beloved Mary. Ever since he had returned, Sam felt that his father looked at him differently. He almost seemed wary of the teenager, like he wasn't quite sure how to act around him. Sam had caught him staring at him several times, the elder Winchester quickly looking away when his son met his gaze. When Sam had told Dean about it, Dean had shrugged it off and told Sam to stop being such a sensitive girl.

Sam had initially been hurt by his big brother's lack of sympathy, Dean's response to his fears making it seem as though he didn't care. Sam had withdrawn from Dean for a few days after that, but when he could no longer bear not talking to his brother he had talked himself into believing that Dean was right. Maybe he was being overly sensitive. Maybe John's change in demeanor had nothing to do with him, or maybe there was no change at all. Maybe Sam was just imagining the whole thing. Sam had relaxed a bit after that, but then Dean had left on his supply run and without his brother there as a buffer, Sam could tell beyond any shadow of a doubt that his father was most definitely treating him differently. When Dean had called and said he would be late getting back, apologizing profusely to Sam about leaving him by himself when he knew what date was looming, Sam had nearly cried. He had watched John leave the house that morning and knew he wouldn't be seeing him until late into the night, or even early into the next morning. He dreaded the moment that his father would walk through the door and now it was happening and Sam felt a foreboding that made goose pimples rise on his arms and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

Sam watched warily as John stumbled through the door, his coat hitting the floor when he missed the hook on the wall. He turned the television off, hoping that his father would not even notice him. He breathed a sigh of relief when the man continued to stagger into the kitchen, bumping into furniture, the wall and anything else that was in his general vicinity. He didn't even spare a glance in his son's direction. Sam stood from the old worn out couch and tiptoed across the living room floor toward the hallway leading to his room. He almost made it too, but then a deep, slurred voice called from the kitchen and Sam stopped in his tracks, his heartbeat kicking up a notch.

"S'm…get y'r ash in here, boy."

Sam sighed and turned toward the kitchen with trepidation. He slowly made his way to the room and stepped just inside the entryway before he stopped and looked at his father through his too long bangs.

"Yeah, Dad?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly.

John looked up from the tumbler filled with amber liquid and gazed at his son with bloodshot eyes. He cocked his head slightly and eyed his son critically. "Where's D'n?" he finally asked.

"He…he's in Phoenix…remember? The car broke down. He'll be home tomorrow," Sam answered cautiously.

John seemed to think about his son's answer for a moment then he nodded slowly. "Yeah…I r'mber," he slurred. "Why are you still up?" he asked as he continued to watch his son, his head bobbing slightly as if it was an effort to hold it up.

"I…I was waiting for you to get home," Sam replied softly.

John chuckled lightly then picked up his glass and swallowed down his jack in one gulp. "Get to bed," he grumbled as he slammed the glass back down a bit harder than necessary.

Sam jumped at the sound then took a step backward, his hazel eyes wide as he stared at his father. "Yes, sir," he whispered before turning and hurrying to his room.

Once the door was securely shut behind him, Sam sank onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. He wracked his brain trying to remember anything he had done or said in the past month to make his father act so differently toward him. He couldn't think of anything and in fact, when he thought harder about it, he and his father had been getting along surprisingly well before John had left to meet his contact. It was once John returned that things had gone downhill. Sam lifted his head and glanced at the closed door then toed off his shoes. He slipped off his jeans then slid under the covers of his bed. He shivered as the cool sheets met his bare skin, but warmed up quickly as he drew the blankets around himself. He lay there with his eyes closed, willing his weary body to sleep, but his body, and his brain had other plans. He couldn't stop the multitude of thoughts that flooded his mind, nor calm his still nerves as the feeling of foreboding continued to rise in him. His breath hitched slightly when, after nearly twenty minutes of trying to sleep and failing, the knob of his bedroom door giggled noisily before the door slowly opened and a presence entered the room.

Sam immediately picked up the smell of alcohol and knew that it was John who had entered his room. He slowed his breathing down as best he could and feigned sleep as he heard footsteps approach his bed. The footsteps stopped just at the foot of his bed and it took everything Sam had to keep from shivering with the sudden fear that filled his heart. He shouldn't be afraid, it was his father afterall. The man who had always loved him, in his own guarded way, and had always protected him with almost the same ferocity as Dean. This was his father and he shouldn't be afraid, but God help him, he was terrified in that moment. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his bones, but couldn't fathom what it could be. He couldn't help but jump a little when John's deep and now completely sober voice sounded through the dark room.

"I know you're not asleep, Sam so you can stop pretending. Always have to be so sneaky… so secretive," John growled as he moved up the side of Sam's bed until Sam could sense him right by his shoulder.

Sam turned his head in the direction of his father's voice and slowly opened his eyes. He gasped when suddenly, a strong hand clamped down on his mouth and John's angry face come into view, a mere inches from his own. Sam struggled to pull away, but John pressed his free hand roughly down on the teenager's chest to keep him in place. Sam pulled his arms free of the blankets and grasped at the forearm holding him down. He tried with all that he had to break free of John's hold, but his father had at least eighty pounds on him, and most of that was muscle. He stared pleadingly up at John's face with wide, confused eyes. John merely smiled as he cocked his head.

"You can't get free, Sammy. You're small and weak. You're nothing like your brother or me. You'll never be like your brother or me…and that's the problem," John hissed as he moved to sit down next to Sam on the bed. "Now, I'm going to pull my hand away from your mouth. If you make one peep, I'll make you regret it," John added before lifting his hand from Sam's face, his other hand still firmly pressing the frightened boy to the bed.

"D-Dad…wh…"

Sam was rocked by a vicious slap to the side of his head, his eyes filling as pain shot through his skull. Suddenly, hands fisted in his tee shirt and jerked him up out of the bed. He was slammed against the wall, his feet barely touching the floor as he stared, terrified into his father's rage filled eyes.

"I said to stay the fuck quiet and what is the first thing you do?" John growled as he leaned menacingly over his son. "You fucking open your mouth. You never follow orders…always have to go against whatever I tell you!"

Sam cried out as John pulled him away from the wall, only to slam him back again, harder this time. "Dad…please…"

"I said shut up! I don't want to hear your whiney voice anymore! Do you hear me?" John screamed, spittle dotting his curled lips. He moved a hand to Sam's throat and grinned when Sam swallowed fearfully. "Now, I'm gonna talk and you're gonna listen," he hissed as he squeezed ever so slightly, grin widening when Sam nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

"Everything that I've ever done has been for you, Sam…you and your brother. Now Dean, he knows how to act. He knows how to be grateful. He knows what his place is. You on the other hand…all you do is complain and whine about how fucked up our lives are and how all you want is for us to be normal. Well, I got news for you…our lives are never going to be normal. That possibility ended the night my sweet Mary died. After that night, I knew life would never be the same. I raised you boys the best I could, did everything in my power to protect you and then…then I find out…," John's voice trailed off as he stared intensely into Sam's eyes. Sam stared back, stark terror creeping up his spine as he realized that he was in deep, deep trouble.

Suddenly, Sam knew. This wasn't his father. His father loved him…would never hurt him like this. He had to get free somehow…had to escape this house and whatever this monster pretending to be his father was. Gathering all of his strength and courage, Sam screamed as he suddenly drew his knee up hard into John's groin, the large man shouting out in surprise and pain as he lost his grip on Sam and dropped to his knees on the floor. Sam scrambled away and toward the open door of the room. He quickened his pace further as he heard John roar in fury from the bedroom. He heard staggered footfalls behind him and raced to the front door. He reached the door and grasped the doorknob, turning it and pulling. Just as he felt the cool air kiss his face, he felt a hand twist in his hair and he cried out in surprise and pain as he was yanked back into the tiny room.

Sam was dragged to his feet by his hair then flung like a rag doll into the wall, his body dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He groaned as he tried to push himself up onto this hands and knees, jerking when he heard the front door slam and the deadbolt engaged. Before Sam could make it off the floor, he was once again grabbed by the hair and yanked to his feet. John pulled Sam to him, the teenager's back to the older man's chest, and wrapped a strong arm across the weakly struggling boy. He pulled Sam's head back, the teen wincing as hair was pulled from his scalp. He shivered as John whispered in his ear.

"You, know, Sammy…I had hoped you would finally listen and that we could have handled this maturely, but now…now I'm kind of glad you're putting up a fight. We're gonna have a lot of fun…you and me…before day breaks."

Sam rolled his eyes toward his father and curled his lip. "You're not my dad. He would never hurt me," he hissed.

John chuckled as he tightened his fist in Sam's hair. "Oh, I'm your dad, Sammy…and you're right about me never hurting you…at least until now. After I found out what you had done, it was all I could do not to snap your fucking little neck. I knew Dean would never let that happen and I could never fight him…not over your sorry ass…but, when he called and said he wouldn't make it back tonight, I knew this was my shot. I was gonna do it right after that phone call, but then I had second thoughts. I wondered if maybe…just maybe…Cromwell was wrong, so I left. I sat all day and thought about it…about what happened that night in your nursery, about what Cromwell told me about all of the others…and about you. It all fit. Cromwell didn't get it wrong. Once I figured that out, I knew you had to die…and I knew it had to be before Dean came back."

"Wh-what are you talking about? I haven't done anything and…and the night Mom died, I was just a baby," Sam choked out, just barely suppressing a sob.

"Doesn't matter," John said as suddenly spun Sam around and slammed a fist into the teens gut.

Sam dropped to his knees and doubled over, gasping for air, one hand on the floor holding himself up as the other held his stomach. John sank down in front of Sam and clucked his tongue. "I really don't want to do this, Sam…you're my son and I did love you…probably still do, but I vowed to avenge your mother's death and I owe it to her to do just that."

Sam sucked in a deep breath then howled out as he brought his head up into John's chin, knocking the man onto his back. "You're not my father and I had nothing to do with Mom's death!" he screamed as he staggered to his feet and backed away. He watched warily as John made it to his feet, his hand rubbing at his chin as he eyed his son angrily.

"You're gonna pay dearly for that, Sammy," John seethed as he sprang forward, just missing Sam as the teen jumped to the side and ran for the kitchen. Just as John reached Sam, the teen spun around and slammed the coffee carafe filled with steaming hot coffee into the side of John's head. The man howled in pain as his skin bubbled from the piping hot liquid. There were tiny shards of glass embedded in his skin as he turned rage filled eyes onto the retreating back of his son. He dove over the small kitchen table and rammed squarely into Sam's back, knocking the teen to the floor with loud thud. Sam gasped as all of the air was driven from his lungs when John landed on top of him. His cried out weakly when John grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head up from the floor then slammed it back down again. Sam's vision went black and then he felt himself being lifted from the floor. He groaned in pain as he was roughly dropped onto a cold surface…the kitchen table his muddled mind supplied…and his arms pulled behind his back.

Sam tried to fight as duct tape was wrapped around his wrists, but all his struggles managed to do were to pull a chuckle from his attacker. Next, his socks were pulled from his feet and his ankles taped tightly together as well. He gave a pained gasp as he was turned over onto this back, his body crushing his bond arms beneath him. He tasted blood as he attempted to open his eyes and he nearly gagged. Finally, his head stopped swimming enough for him to pull his eyelids open. John was standing over him, smiling down at him, holding the bowie knife that Sam had managed to get for him two years earlier for his birthday. Sam's eyes widened and started to struggle, but was stopped when the knife was lowered to his neck and John shook his head.

"Uh-uh, Sammy. You aren't going anywhere," John said as he moved the knife to the collar of Sam's tee shirt and cut through it like it was butter. He set the knife on the table by Sam's hip and tore the tee shirt the rest of the way, then let the torn pieces fall to sides, revealing Sam's chest and stomach. John reached for the knife and again placed it against his throat.

"Such a good looking boy, I gotta give that to you. All the training and working out has you filling out just fine, Sammy. Too bad it won't do you a bit of good now," John said as he slowly dragged the knife down Sam's chest, over his stomach before letting it come to rest at his navel. Sam shuddered at the feel of the knife on his skin then lifted pleading eyes to his father's face.

"Please…don't..."

"Winchesters don't beg, Sam," John said, then suddenly dug the tip of the knife into the soft skin beside Sam's navel, blood immediately pooling, then running down the soft slope of Sam's lower abdomen to soak into the waist band of his boxers.

"Nah!" Sam cried in pain as John dug the knife in deeper, not cutting through the muscle, but still deep enough to make sure that it would cause the most amount of pain possible. More blood pooled and ran…down his stomach and over his side, forming small puddles on the table beneath him.

"Shhhh," John shushed as he brought the knife tip to Sam's lips, immediately silencing the boy. He moved the tip of the knife to Sam's chest and drew it slowly down, just deep enough to draw blood, and smiled at the slight whimper Sam made.

"My dad and brother are going to kill you," Sam breathed out, his chest heaving as pain enveloped him. "They're going to find you and they're going to rip you apart."

"I am your dad, Sammy. Why do you insist that I'm not?" John asked as he swept his dark eyes up to catch Sam's gaze.

"You aren't him…he would never do this. He loves me."

"Hmmm… a nice thought maybe, but…," John said, but then he blinked and when his eyes opened again, Sam saw a flash of glowing silver and he sucked in a frightened breath.

"Shapeshifter," Sam whispered as the enormity of his plight sunk in.

His father could be dead, or at the very least, incapacitated…and the thought of John's possible death brought tears to the youngest Winchester's eyes. Even if he were still alive, Sam doubted there would be time for John to get free and get home before the monster had finished what he planned. Sam squeezed his eyes shut to hold in the tears, but they sprang open when duct tape was roughly put over his mouth. The shapeshifter wearing his father's face once again drew the knife down Sam's chest and stomach, illiciting a muffled scream from his victim. The monster brought the bloody knife to his lips and licked the blood away, smiling down at Sam with blood stained teeth.

"You're a smart boy…you figured it out. Doesn't mean that what I told you was a lie. I have all of your daddy's thoughts right up here," not John said as he tapped a finger to his forehead. "The things he thinks about you…wow. If you knew the half of it you'd want to blow your brains out. I'm just going to save you from having to do that…but, not here. I want to enjoy my time with you…take it slow," the shifter added as he tucked the knife away in its sheath.

The shifter moved to the end of the table, preparing to grab the teenager by his legs, but Sam had other ideas. He swiftly pulled his knees up then kicked out with all his might, connecting firmly with the shifters chest. Surprise showed on the shifters face as he flew backward and his head hit the refrigerator hard. His body dropped to the floor in a motionless heap and Sam gave a triumphant grunt as he rolled to the edge of the table and worked his legs around until he could slide safely to the floor. His head swam as he became upright, but he shook the dizziness away. Once he was no longer swaying, he made small jumps to the utensil drawer, aiming to retrieve a knife to cut himself free with. He looked back over his shoulder to make sure the shifter was still out for the count and would've smiled if his mouth was covered with duct tape. He continued his way to the drawer and once there, he carefully began to turn himself around so he could reach the drawers handle with his hands, but just as he turned, the side of his head was hit by a ferocious punch and Sam dropped, his head pounding, his brain muddled. He felt rough hands grab him and drag him up, then fingers were digging into his cheeks as the shifter held his face and slammed the back of his head into the cabinets behind him.

The shifter leaned in close to the nearly unconscious boy and whispered, "We're gonna take a little trip now and you're gonna find out how much that little display cost you." Sam felt himself hoisted up and then he was flung over the shifters shoulder, his head bumping against the shifters back as it swiftly headed for the front door. Sam's last conscious thought, before the darkness took him and just as the cold December air hit his bare skin was that he was never going to see his family again. The shifter squinted into the darkness to make sure nobody was about then opened the door to John's truck and dumped his hostage inside. Within a few moments, the black truck heading away from the small house the Winchesters called home at the moment and disappeared into the night, taking the youngest Winchester with it.

**That's chapter one! So, what do you think? Should I continue? Please let me know and I'll get working on chapter two as soon as I can! **

**Cindy**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow...I mean...wow. I had no idea that I would get the kind of response I got from this story. Thank you all soooooo much! I'm blown away :) I was inspired to get this next chapter done before my crazy time starts at work again and I don't have much time for writing. I really hope you like it.**

**WARNING: There be bad times for Sam in this chapter so read at your own rist**

**AND: I forgot this in the first chapter so...I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE WINCHESTERS NOR IS THERE ANY MONETARY REWARD FOR WRITING THIS STORY. THE ONLY THING I OWN ARE THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS WHO POP IN AT RANDOM TIMES AND THE ONLY REWARD I GET ARE THE AWESOME REVIEWS I RECEIVE!**

**Okay...with all of that out of the way...on with the story!**

**Old Scars, New Wounds**

**Chapter 2**

Dean collapsed onto his bed with a sigh, the pizza that had just been delivered held protectively in his hands. He scooted against the headboard then reached for a beer from the six pack on the side table. He hated not having his baby and he really hated not being home with his little brother, especially on this day. _"Happy birthday, Mom," _he whispered as his green eyes drifted to the ceiling above him. Of all the trips for the Impala to decide to break down with whatever ailment he couldn't fix on his own, why did it have to be this one? Sure, he was only 100 miles away from Prescott, but it may as well be 1,000 considering he had no wheels. He took a swig of beer then opened the pizza box and pulled a gooey slice out. Just as he was about to take a bite, a wave of uneasiness washed over him, which usually only happened when he was on a hunt that Sam was also a part of. He lowered the pizza and glanced at the clock on the side table. 11:30 flashed in bright red and he shook his head with a nervous chuckle. Sam was most likely sleeping, or if not that, reading in bed in order to avoid their father, who by this time would be three sheets to the wind…either at some bar or at home. Sam knew enough to stay out of his way, so Dean brushed off the uneasiness with a bite of the pizza slice that would make a lumberjack proud.

Dean was three slices down when the uneasiness returned. He reached for his phone and scrolled through the short list of contacts until he came to Sam's name. He hesitated hitting the call button since he'd already spoken to Sam earlier in the evening and he certainly didn't want Sam ribbing him about being such a worry wart, but God help him, the uneasiness was growing and screw it if he woke Sam up…he had to know that his little brother was okay. Dean hit the call button and waited for Sam to pick up, his anxiety kicking up a notch when the call went to voicemail. He tried again with the same result and the brave front he was trying to maintain collapsed like a house of cards as he paced the small motel room. Next, he tried John's number, but the outcome was the same. Fear gripped his heart as he hurried to pull his boots on. At least he didn't have to waste time packing since he hadn't intended on staying in Phoenix overnight, but it still felt like it took forever before he was racing out the door and down the street to the mechanics shop a mile away.

Dean found the saved number for the mechanic in his phone and pressed the call button as he ran down the street. After several rings the call was picked up and a sleepy voice sounded from the other end.

"_Hello?"_

"Yeah…this is Dean Wells…the one with the impala. Look, man, I know it's late, but I really need to get my car!" Dean said breathlessly as he continued to run down the street.

"_Dude…it's after midnight…"_

"I know it is, but I have an emergency at home…I have to get there tonight…as soon as possible!"

"_I just got to sleep, man…and my wife will kill me if I leave…"_

"It's my little brother! I wouldn't ask this if it wasn't absolutely necessary! I'll just break in and get it if you don't come so…look, I'm sorry, but I have to get my car! I'll pay you extra to come down and open up for me."

There was a long pause at the other end and Dean was suddenly afraid that the mechanic, Dennis if Dean remembered correctly, had hung up. He sighed in relief when he heard movement on the other end of the call.

"_Yeah…yeah, okay. I'll be there in twenty minutes. I got a little brother too so…"_

"Thanks, man…I really appreciate this. I'll see you in twenty." Dean didn't wait for a response as he ended the call and tucked his phone into his pocket. Five minutes later he was bent over in front of the mechanics shop, his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. Once his wheezing had stopped, he walked over to the fenced in parking area and peered through the locked gate. His baby sat a few rows back from the fence and Dean was tempted to just break in and take her, but he knew the keys were most likely inside the shop and he figured by the time he had the impala hotwired, Dennis, or Deke, or whatever his name was would probably show up, so he reluctantly went back to the front door and slid to the cool concrete to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Dean was on his way, his wallet relieved of most of the money he had won earlier in the night at the neighborhood drinking establishment. Prescott was a good hour and a half drive away, but Dean had no intention of it taking that long. He had a little brother who still wasn't answering his phone, and a father who could be passed out somewhere in an alcohol induced haze for all he knew and dammit if they didn't just drive him bat shit crazy sometimes! As he drove, a recent conversation between he and Sam came to mind and his stomach did a flip as he wondered if that could have anything to do with the lack of contact between he and his family. Sam had been concerned about how their father had been acting toward him the past few weeks or so. Dean had shrugged it off and called Sam a girl, but when he really thought about it he too had noticed that something was off about the way John was acting. It was almost as if the man was wary of his youngest son…as if he didn't quite know how to act around him. Dean had noticed sideways glances and a general uneasiness when the two were in the room together and talking.

"Sammy, you'd better be okay…and Dad, if you've done anything to him I…," Dean muttered to himself, not even wanting to think that their father could ever hurt Sam. "You made me swear to always protect Sam, and I'll do it…even against you," he finally added as he sped down the highway.

X

John's head throbbed in time with his beating heart, but that did nothing to slow him down in his haste to free himself from the bindings the shifter had restrained him with. He had to get free, had to get home because if he didn't…well, he didn't even want to think about what could be happening while he sat in a sewer tunnel rubbing his wrists bloody trying to get free. He'd just stumbled out of the bar, intent on getting home and falling into bed, but he hadn't even made it to his truck before he had been attacked from behind, something hard hitting his head. He'd been unconscious before he ever hit the ground and had woken up with a headache the size of the moon and his own face staring back at him. He immediately knew what it was, but couldn't understand where it had come from. He and Dean had taken care of the shifter so how could it be standing in front of him, gloating and wearing his face? Then it dawned on his muddled mind…there were two of them. Dean and he had killed one, but there were two and now he was tied up, Dean was a 100 miles away completely unaware and Sam…Sam was alone and unprotected and son of a bitch if he didn't get out of these ropes soon he was going to have a stroke!

John had sat in horror, unable to do anything as the shifter removed the sheath that held his bowie knife from his belt and attached it to his own belt then named off the Winchester's address and the fact that _"little Sammy was all alone and most likely pining for his daddy to come home and who was he to deny the whiny little bitch what he desired"_. John had screamed every curse word he knew, every threat he could think of, but the shifter had only laughed, pulled the truck keys from John's coat pocket and strolled way, his parting words, _"Time to go play"_ leaving John in a panic and cursing himself for ever leaving his youngest alone. That was nearly two hours ago…plenty of time for the shifter to find his house and hurt his son.

John worked the ropes on his wrists, wincing at the pain, but determined to get free regardless of the damage to his skin. Finally, he felt some give, thanks in large to his blood lubricating his wrists and he worked even harder to get free. Another ten minutes and one hand was pulled free from the rope with a triumphant shout. The rope was pulled from his other wrist then John went to work on the ropes around his chest and then his ankles. John swayed when he stood, his hand catching the wall to support himself while he breathed through the dizziness. Once the worst had passed, he took off down the sewer line in the same direction the shifter had gone and it wasn't long before he found a ladder leading up to the street above. Once he was out of the sewer and into the cool night air, his head cleared even further and he was able to locate where he was and which direction he needed to go. At first, he thought about jacking a car, but then changed his mind and took off in a near sprint toward the small house he was renting. He thanked his lucky stars that he knew this town backwards and forwards with all of the hunting for the first shifter he and Dean had done. It would serve him well tonight in finding his way back to Sam.

Sam was in a world of pain. It was all he could think about…it was his entire existence now. He had awakened to find himself trussed up like a Christmas turkey, his arms pulled up and secured painfully to a thick, metal pipe running across the center of a small concrete cavern. He was upright, with his ankles tied to two metal hooks protruding from the wet concrete floor beneath him. His tee shirt had been completely stripped away leaving him in only his bloodstained boxers. He had tried to free himself, but there was zero give to the ropes that bound his wrists. Then he'd heard a chuckle and looked up to see not John emerge from the shadows, the bowie knife once again in his hand. That had been what seemed like hours ago. The shifter was brutal in his attack. He sliced through delicate skin, ducking under the pipe as he moved around Sam inflicting wound after wound…shoulders, chest, stomach, legs, back…nothing escaped John's knife. His eyes were swollen nearly shut and his lip split wide open from the shifter using his face as a punching bag. Then the shifter had wrapped his bloodied hands around Sam's neck and choked him unconscious. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but when he woke up the shifter was nowhere to be seen.

Sam squinted through his barely open eyes, unable to see much since the cavern like room he was in was lit only by a few burning candles. His body was in agony from the multitude of cuts and he felt as though he was on fire. His breaths came in staggered gasps and it hurt to suck in air so he was sure that a rib or two had been broken. He hadn't felt the pain after the attack at his house so he assumed the shifter must have beaten him while he was unconscious since he couldn't remember being hit except for his face. Sam tried the ropes on his wrists again, but gasped when the movement sent spears of pain down his arms and back. His head swam as red hot agony swept through him and dark spots danced across his vision. He sensed movement behind him and groaned when a hand cruelly gripped his hair and pulled his head back. John's face leered down at him, an evil grin spreading wide as he lowered his face and sniffed Sam's neck. "Ready for round two, Sammy?" the shifter whispered, his breath on Sam's neck sending shivers down the teens fevered body. The cavern filled with Sam's agonized screams as the shifter began his torture again.

X

Dean was nearly hyperventilating by the time he reached their small house. He had tried several more times to reach both his brother and father, to no avail. His heart raced as he pulled up to the curb of the house, the young man noting the absence of John's truck with both relief and fear. Maybe John was passed out somewhere and hadn't even been home and Sam was sleeping so soundly that he couldn't hear his phone. "Not likely," Dean murmured as he jumped from the impala and sped across the lawn to the house. He stopped suddenly when he saw that the front door stood ajar, realizing with that one discovery that his fears had been founded. Sam would never go to bed with the door unlocked, let alone wide open. If the door was open and Sam wasn't answering his phone, it meant that something had happened and he couldn't answer his phone. Dean pulled his revolver from the back of his jeans and slowly pulled the screen door open. With his gun at the ready, Dean stepped into the small livingroom and glanced around. The only thing that seemed out of place was John's coat on the floor by the door, but if John's coat was there then that meant that he had to have come home at some point then left again, but without his coat. "Why would he have left his coat?" Dean wondered as he moved toward the hallway to the bedrooms.

"Sammy!?" Dean called down the hall, his voice tinged with fear. He came to he and Sam's bedroom and stepped inside. Sam's bed was empty, but unmade, the covers thrown carelessly over the edge and Dean sucked in a nervous breath at the sight. Sam always made his bed in the morning so he knew that at some point Sam had been in bed, but where was he now? And where was John?

Dean hurried from the room, checked John's room and the bathroom before he moved down the hall and into the livingroom again. He glanced around then headed for the kitchen. He knew that something had definitely happened in the house the second he stepped into the kitchen. The light was on and glass littered the floor. The broken coffee carafe lay discarded on the floor along with two of the kitchen chairs. Dean moved further into the kitchen, his eyes widening when to his horror he saw blood puddled on the table and smears of it on the floor.

"Oh my God…what the hell happened here?" Dean cried softly as he moved around the kitchen. He lifted his hands to the top of his head and spun slowly around, his eyes glistening as he thought of his brother being attacked while he was eating pizza and drinking beer. "Stop it! It may not have been Sammy that got attacked!" he hissed to himself when he realized that he didn't really know what had happened. For all he knew, it could be John who was hurt and maybe Sam had loaded him in his truck and taken him to the hospital. God help him, but he prayed that it was his father's and not Sam's blood on the table. Suddenly, he heard the screen door open and he rushed into the livingroom, his gun held high, ready to shoot whomever or whatever had entered his house. He stopped, his eyes wide with shock when a bloody and disheveled John Winchester stood there, his hands up, dark eyes wide as he stared back at his middle son.

"Dad?" Dean said softly, his heart now hammering in his chest.

"Dean…thank God! Where's your brother?" John cried as his eyes scanned the room before coming back to rest on Dean.

"He's not here…wasn't here when I got here," Dean answered as he kept the gun trained on his father.

"Dean…put the gun down…we don't have time for this," John coaxed as he moved into the room.

"What happened here, Dad? Where's Sammy?" Dean cried.

John dropped his hands and looked around. "I don't know where Sammy is. God…the shifter got him and…and it's my fault."

"What? What do you mean the shifter got him?" Dean asked, his voice trembling with fear. "We killed the shifter, Dad!"

John shook his head as he moved into the room. "There's a second one. It came back for Sammy…we have to find him…"

"A second one? Shifters are loners…they don't hunt in pairs…"

"I know that, Dean! That's why we missed it because they don't normally hang together, but…this time…"

"Stay back…how do I even know it's really you?" Dean shouted as John moved toward him.

"It's me, Dean and we're wasting time here! We have to find your brother!"

"I'm not going anywhere until I know it's you!"

John sighed and went to the small table at the end of the couch. He opened a drawer and pulled a switchblade from it. He held it up for Dean to see. "Sam's silver switchblade," he explained as he opened the knife and drew it over his forearm.

Dean watched, seeing no reaction as the silver blade cut John's skin. He breathed a relieved sigh and lowered his gun. "Dad…what the hell is going on?" he cried.

John hurried into the kitchen, Dean right behind him, and stopped when he saw the damage. He moved to the table and dipped his finger into the congealed blood pooled there. Dean watched as his shoulders slumped and he dropped his head. "Dad?" he said as he moved up beside his father.

John looked up and Dean was surprised to find tears in his eyes. "We have to move! I'll fill you in, but we have to find Sam. We may already be too late!" he said as he quickly turned and ran for the door.

"Dad! What do you mean we may already be too late!?" Dean shouted, following John out the door and to the Impala. He hesitated when John went to the driver's side and crawled in behind the wheel, but then went to the passenger door and climbed inside. The keys were still in the ignition so John turned the car over, the engine coming to life with a loud roar. He peeled off down the street, dark eyes gleaming with anger and fear.

"Dad? You need to tell me what's going on!" Dean demanded.

John cast a quick glance to his son then back to the street. "I was coming out of the bar…I was attacked, knocked out. When I came to, I was tied up…I was in the sewers and…and I was looking at my own face staring back at me." John explained. "I know shifters are usually loners, but not this time. The bastard knew everything that was in my head…our address, that you were stuck in Phoenix, that…that Sammy was alone. He…he took my bowie knife and he said that he was going after Sam."

"How long, Dad? How long has the bastard had Sammy?" Dean asked fearfully.

John glanced over and shook his head. "Too long, Dean…way too long," he answered.

**That's it for now folks. So, let me know what you think...reviews are love 3 Thanks for reading!**

**Cindy**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Here we are again :) Thank you all sooooo much for the wonderful reviews! I didn't have time to respond to you this time around...really wanted to get this chapter done before crazy time starts up at work. Just know that I appreciate each and every one of you! So...on with the story.**

**Old Scars, New Wounds**

**Chapter 3**

"Dad, where the hell are we going?" Dean asked, his voice rising to be heard over the roar of the impala's engine.

John glanced over before turning back to face the street ahead. "To every place we know the shifter has used," he answered. "We know he won't take Sam to where he had me so that knocks one possible location off the list."

"We have to find him, Dad…and fast. I have a feeling Sammy doesn't have much time!" Dean cried in a panic.

"I know, son…I feel it too. We'll find him…I promise you that," John said in reply though he too was running in panic mode.

"But will we find him in time? Or…or will he…"

"We'll find him in time, Dean! You have to believe that," John snapped. He sensed Dean wither beside him and glanced over. Dean looked so young and vulnerable, his eyes filled with abject fear at the prospect of losing his baby brother. "Dean, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to snap at you. I just need you to be strong…for me and especially for Sammy. He's gonna be in bad shape, of this I'm sure, but…this shifter, if we killed his partner, or worse, his mate, then he's not gonna to want to kill Sam right away…he's gonna want him to suffer. As horrible as that sounds, it's what I'm praying for because I can't even think about the alternative," he said softly, his voice cracking at the end.

Dean took several deep breaths to calm himself. He shuddered at the thought of his Sammy, his baby brother, his reason for breathing suffering at the hands of the shifter, but he had to agree with his father. They could help Sam heal from his wounds, both physical and mental, but they could do nothing if he was dead. So as horrible as it was to think it, he prayed, just as John was praying, that the shifter was more interested in making Sam suffer than killing him outright. He glanced at his father and nodded.

"Yeah…you're right. I'm sorry…I'm just so worried about him, Dad. I should have been there to protect him," Dean said softly, his moist eyes turning to stare out the windshield.

"Don't, Dean. You were where I sent you doing what I sent you to do. I'm the one who should have been at home with Sammy. I should have been there to protect him and not getting drunk at some bar. This is on me, not you," John said, voice sharp, yet comforting.

Dean looked over and this time his eyes were hard. "It's got to stop, Dad. It's not going to bring her back, and it's not going to stop the memories. I know it's hard and I know you want to forget…if only for a little while, but this…this getting plowed shit is not helping you…it's not helping me and it's certainly not helping Sam," he said a bit more harshly than he intended.

John looked shocked for a moment, then the look of shock turned to a look of shame and regret. He bit back the emotions flowing through him and nodded. "You're right. I've been so weak…unable to deal with my loss…that I've forgotten that you boys lost her too…that you need me more at these times and…and I've failed you both. Sammy's going through God knows what because I failed him…"

Dean dropped his eyes and sighed. "You haven't failed us, Dad. Yeah, the drinking binges have been bad, but I get it. Sometimes it hurts so much when I think about her and I feel like doing exactly what you do, but then I look at Sammy and I know…I need to push that pain aside so I can take care of him. You suck sometimes, but you have never failed us," he said, a slight grin curling his lips.

John shook his head and smiled. "You're a lot stronger than me, Dean," he said proudly.

Dean smiled and turned to face the windshield. "Okay…enough of this touchy feely crap…we've got a brat to find. So…where do we start?" he said.

"We start at the beginning…the first lair we found. We'll work our way through them all. Keep your eyes open for my truck…odds are it will want to park close so nobody sees it. When we see the truck, we know we've found it," John answered.

"Would it leave the truck in plain view though? Won't it be afraid we'd see it?" Dean asked.

"I don't think so. It thinks you're still in Phoenix and it seemed pretty sure of the fact that I wouldn't be able to get free any time soon. It won't be expecting us to be looking for it this soon. It probably thinks it'll be long gone before we ever find where it took Sam." John replied.

"Shouldn't we maybe…split up? We could cover twice the ground…"

"No!" John snapped as he looked over at Dean. "We stay together…we both need to be there when we find Sam," he added.

"Okay…I just thought that…"

"I know, Dean…I'm sorry. I just…I can't have you out there alone…not like Sam was. I…"

"I get it, Dad. We stick together, we find Sammy and kill some shifter ass," Dean said with a nod to his father.

John looked over at Dean, his eyes dark and angry. "The bastard is mine…I kill it," he growled, his fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel as he let the rage flow through him. He let the thought of his precious boy in the shifters hands fuel his rage. No way the shifter would live past today…no way in hell.

Dean eyed his father closely, could see and feel the rage within him. As much as he wanted to be the one to kill the shifter, he knew that his father needed it more than he did. "You got it, Dad," he said, his eyes searching the darkness as the impala sped through the dark streets, the black car seeming to sense the urgency of the two men within its doors.

X

The next time Sam awoke, he was no longer tied to the overhead pipes with his feet secured to the floor. His arms were tied down to the arm rests of a cold, metal chair…his ankles each secured to a leg of the chair. Rope across his chest secured him to the chair back, the rough fibers digging into already abused and swollen skin. Sam groaned as he lifted his head, the taste of copper in his mouth almost making him gag. He slowly opened his heavy lids as far as his swollen eyes would allow and glanced around. He was in the same small cavern like room he'd been in before, the same candlelight casting the same dull glow over the area. The dank smell mixed with the stench of blood and sweat and infection caused Sam's stomach to roil and he had to swallow several times to keep from throwing up. He shivered harshly even though he could feel that he was burning up. His body felt on fire from the multitude of wounds the shifter had inflicted, his ribs screaming with each subtle movement he made. Sam's head throbbed with each beat of his heart and all the boy could do was wish that he would lose consciousness again so he wouldn't have to be in agony.

Sam dropped his head and closed his eyes. He willed himself to pass out and almost did when the shifters voice…John's voice…jolted him back to reality. "Dean thinks you're a burden you know," the shifter taunted as it moved up behind Sam and placed its hands on Sam's shoulders.

Sam shook his head and swallowed against the nausea the movement caused. "No," he whispered, his voice all but gone from screaming through torture after torture.

"Yes, Sammy. Believe it or don't believe it, but deep down you know it's true," the shifter said. "Dean thinks you're a burden, just as your father does. You're a chain around his neck slowly, but surely choking the life out of him."

"Y-you don't k-know my brother's thoughts," Sam forced out, the effort to talk seeming to take all of his energy.

"Ah, but I do, Sammy. He and your father have talked about it…about their shared feelings on the subject. They even discussed leaving you with someone so they wouldn't have to cart you around with them from hunt to hunt," the shifter said as it moved its fingers lightly over Sam's skin.

"Y-you're l-lying," Sam whispered, hot tears cutting trails through the blood and dirt that caked Sam's face, despite his efforts to hold them in.

"No, Sammy…I'm not. When John told Dean what he had found out about why your mother died…well, it wasn't pretty. Why do you think he left you to deal with your father when he knew what John was going to do? He knows how your father gets on these days…how he can get violent if the wrong word is spoken. He left you here by yourself because he was hoping you would do what you do best…open your mouth and say something bratty, or selfish to your father and maybe, just maybe your daddy would go off on you and give you the beating you deserve." The shifter smiled when Sam visibly flinched at its words. It moved around until it stood in front of the boy, then reached down and lifted Sam's head until they were eye to eye.

"It's n-not t-true…Dean l-loves me. The c-car broke d-down…"

"Nope…the car's just fine. Dean called your dad and told him he was going to stay the night in Phoenix…said that he needed some time away from your sorry ass. Your dad told you the car broke down, but that isn't the case."

"They will come l-looking for m-me and…and they w-will kill you…"

"They will count their lucky stars that they are finally rid of you and they will leave you here to rot in the sewers…right where you belong."

"No…they love me…"

"You keep telling yourself that, kiddo…and on your last breath you take, when you're still here, maybe then you'll believe me." The shifter sank to its knees in front of Sam and leaned forward, sniffing the boy's neck before running its tongue over the fevered flesh, its hand moving slowly down Sam's arms, its hands coming to rest over the tops of Sam's. "You are mine to do with as I please…nobody is looking for you, Sammy…nobody will come for you," it whispered as it straightened up and grinned down at the trembling boy.

Sam stared up at the monster before him, surprising the creature when he smiled. "If my dad and brother don't care if I die, then what was the sense in leaving my dad alive and taking me instead? They killed your partner so you w-want to hurt them. How does taking me and letting them go hurt them…if they hate me like you say they do?" he asked, his voice barely audible, yet striking a chord with the shifter none the less.

"How do you know your father is alive?" the shifter asked with uncertainty in its voice for the first time.

"Because you j-just said they would leave me here to rot," Sam answered with a small, weak grin.

The shifter narrowed its eyes and glared down at the boy. Without warning, it gripped one of Sam's fingers then pulled and twisted until there was an audible crack. Sam screamed in agony and tried to jerk away from the shifter. The creature grabbed Sam's face and pulled it to within an inch of its own, eliciting a gasp from the boy when the ropes cut into his chest. "I'm going to slowly break each one of your fucking fingers and then I'm going to move to your toes. After that I'm going to pull every single bone out of its socket, put them all back in and then pull them out again. You will beg for me to kill you, but I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to let you die a slow, painful death you little fuck!" the creature hissed as it once again took one of Sam's fingers and cruelly twisted it until it broke. It laughed maniacally each time a finger snapped and Sam screamed. By the time it came to the last finger, Sam was nearly unconscious, the boy panting, sweat rolling off of him as pain assaulted him in waves. The shifter broke the last finger then gripped the boy by his hair and lifted his head. "You should learn to shut your mouth, boy," it said before it dropped Sam's head and ran its hands down his body, then his legs before they came to rest on Sam's feet. It grabbed one toe and began to twist, but jerked around at a familiar, rage filled voice.

X

The Winchesters had been driving for what seemed like hours, hitting each location they had mapped on their initial search for the shapeshifter some two weeks ago. Each location had come up a bust and both men were becoming more and more frantic with each passing moment. They were driving away from yet another manhole cover when Dean happened to look down a dark alley and nearly cried with relief.

"Dad! Stop!" Dean shouted, even as he was opening the passenger door.

John jammed on the brakes, the car coming to a screeching stop in the middle of the dark street. Dean was out of the car and running down the alley before John had even put the car into park. He jumped from the impala and took off after his son. When his eyes spotted what Dean had seen, he cried out as he picked up speed. Dean skidded to halt, John coming up right behind him, both men's eyes glued to the black truck hidden behind a large, green dumpster. After the shock of finding John's truck wore off, both he and Dean began to frantically search for a way into the sewer lines that they knew ran beneath their feet.

"There!" Dean shouted triumphantly as he rounded the front of the truck.

John came up beside Dean and looked down at the round manhole cover nearly hidden from sight underneath the green dumpster. Together the rolled the dumpster aside and stood over the cover. John knelt down and ran his finger through a smear of dark liquid on the cover. He raised his finger so Dean could see and the younger man saw red, literally.

"Blood," Dean hissed as his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

"Sam's blood," John added as he stood up and looked around. "Dean, get the car and bring it down here," he instructed as he once again knelt beside the cover.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied before taking off at a sprint toward his car.

It took less than five minutes from the time they discovered the manhole cover to the time they were both descending the ladder into the depths below. They crinkled their noses at the smell once they reached the bottom, their feet splashing down into the few inches of water that covered the tunnel floor. They shone their flashlights down the tunnel to the right and then the left, unsure of which way they should go. They had their answer when what sounded like a faint scream carried down the tunnel from their right. They looked at each other, fear gripping their hearts as the scream sounded again and again.

"Sammy!" Dean cried as both men began to run down the tunnel, toward the anguished screams of their youngest family member. They rounded a corner and a faint light shone from up ahead. They slowed down so as not to alert the shifter to their presence and worked their way along the wall of the tunnel until they came to a cutout door in the wall. They peered inside and what they saw nearly brought them to their knees. From their vantage point, they could see Sam tied to a chair, his body covered in blood. The boy's chin was dropped to his chest and he was panting. The shifter was knelt in front of Sam, his back to the door. They couldn't see what it was doing, but based upon the way Sam was nearly sobbing, they knew it was causing him more pain. They stepped into the room, fury raging through them at the condition Sam was in. John lifted his gun, took one step further into the room and rolled his head on his neck.

"Hey!" John screamed and the shifter jerked around, its strange eyes widening as it jumped to its feet…and then all hell broke loose.

**That's it for now folks. Just to let you know, my busy time at work starts tomorrow so I won't be able to work on the story from there very much. I'll try to work on it tomorrow night at home, but no promises. I do promise to work on it as much as I can and get updates as quickly as I can. Thanks for reading!**

**Cindy**


	4. Chapter 4

**So...the bombardment I am used to seeing on the 1st and 2nd of each month did not happen this time around. That means that I had plenty of time to whip up another chapter of my story! BONUS! Are you all ready for a rescue? Well, if you are, here it is! Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter...I'm feeling the love 3 Anyway, hope you like this next chapter!**

**Old Scars, New Wounds**

**Chapter 4**

"_Hey!" John screamed and the shifter jerked around, its strange eyes widening as it jumped to its feet…and then all hell broke loose._

A shot rang out, but the shifter was fast…faster than John had ever seen from his previous shifter run-ins. It was up and behind Sam, the boy's hair in its hand, the shifter leering threateningly, in seconds. John had hit it though, grazed its arm. He could see the dark stain of blood forming on its left upper arm and could hear the creature hissing as the silver burned its skin. Sam moaned from the rough way the shifter held him and both Winchesters saw red. The shape Sam was in was worse than they could have ever imagined. They both wondered how he could even still be alive. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't covered in blood, even his hair was tangled with it. John and Dean stepped further into the room, their guns raised, faces masks of rage.

"Get your hands off of my boy you son of a bitch!" John demanded, his voice steady and strong despite the horrifying scene before him.

The shifter grinned and pulled Sam's head back even further, dragging a strangled cry from the teen's damaged throat. "I don't think so, hunter. You killed my mate…I kill your son," it hissed as it moved one hand down and around Sam's exposed neck.

Dean growled as he moved forward, but stopped when John held up a warning hand. "Stay back, Dean," he said, his dark eyes never leaving the shifter wearing his face.

"Yeah, Dean…stay back. Unless you want to see me rip out your precious Sammy's throat right here, right now," the shifter taunted, its fingers digging into the tender flesh of Sam's neck.

"I'm going to rip you apart!" Dean threatened, his finger pulling just slightly on his gun's trigger.

The shifter laughed as he stared Dean down, his eyes no longer dark like John's, but the strange glow of retinal flares attributed to shape shifters. It moved its hand up until its fingers gripped Sam's chin then it bent slightly and caressed Sam's cheek with its own. "Little Sammy and I have been having so much fun. Why do you want to spoil that? We all know how John has been feeling about the brat, don't we?" the shifter taunted as it cast its gaze to John, then grinned as it looked back at Dean. "Oh wait, you don't know do you? Your daddy hasn't told you what his friend told him about Sam, has he?" it added before obscenely licking its tongue up Sam's cheek. "He hasn't told you his fears…how he can't look at Sam now without hearing the words his friend spoke running through his head."

The shifter straightened, careful to keep Sam's head dead center to its chest as it watched the confusion on Dean's face. John remained stoic, his features never changing as he stared the shifter down.

"It's making things up, Dean…don't listen it. It's just trying to throw you off guard," John said evenly.

Dean shifted beside him, but the young man stood his ground, his drawn gun never wavering. "Go to hell!" he hissed.

The shifter cocked his head and frowned. "You can't shoot me…not without possibly hitting little Sammy," it said with a grin.

John cleared his throat as he lowered his gun. "You're right," he said.

The shifter grinned, but was suddenly rocked when a shot rang out, the echo reverberating through the dark room. It looked down at its shoulder in shock and surprise. The shifter looked up and glared in Dean's direction, hissing as it suddenly gripped the back of Sam's chair and flung it to the side, the chair and the teen secured to it sailing across the room then hitting the wall and falling to the floor with a loud thud. Sam didn't make so much as a sound, the teen completely unconscious now, his head hanging limply toward the dirty concrete floor. With a roar, the shifter flew forward, eyes locked on Dean as the young man made a run for Sam. Another shot was fired and the shifter screamed as it was hit, this time from John's gun, though the shot was not a fatal one. It changed its direction and threw itself at John, slamming into the hunter just as he pulled off another shot. The two hit the floor, John momentarily stunned, but quickly regaining his composure.

"Dean! Get to Sam!" John shouted as he rolled his body then got his legs up enough to push the shifter away from him.

Dean wasted no time arguing as he raced to his fallen brother. He dropped to his knees beside the overturned chair, the clamor of the fight not twenty feet away a distant distraction as he carefully placed two fingers on Sam's bloodied neck. "Come on, Sammy…don't do this," he cried when he could feel no pulse, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he desperately searched for any sign that his brother was alive. He took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to Sam's neck once again, this time being rewarded when he felt a pulse, faint, but there. "Oh thank God," he whispered as he gently cupped Sam's cheek. He set his gun on the floor then carefully righted the chair his brother was tied to, the teens chin falling to his chest, his tangled, blood-matted hair falling to cover his face. Dean pulled his knife from the sheath on his belt and began to cut at the ropes that held Sam's arms to the chair. His gut twisted when he saw the damage to Sam's long fingers and it was all he could do to keep from joining the battle raging behind him.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Sammy. I'm gonna take care of you…don't you worry…you're safe now," Dean whispered as he freed one arm then moved to the next. He had just moved to Sam's feet when he heard his father shout behind him.

"Dean! Look out!"

Dean twisted around to find the shifter launching itself at he and his brother. A loud crack sounded and the shifter screamed in pain and rage as blood blossomed across its back. Dean brought his knife up just as the shifter hit him, the creature falling still on top of the young hunter as the two hit the floor.

"A little help here," Dean gasped breathlessly.

"Dean!" John shouted as he ran to his two sons. He grabbed the shifter by the arms and ripped him away from Dean. He breathed a sigh of relief when the shifter rolled limply away, Dean's knife buried deep in its dead heart. Dean lay there, a stunned look on his face, but it took only a second for his face to change and the young hunter was up and at Sam's side again.

John gave the shifter a ferocious kick before he too was at Sam's side, his hands gently cupping his son's face and lifting it from his chest. He tenderly brushed his thumbs over Sam's cheeks as Dean worked at cutting the ropes from Sam's ankles. Sam's swollen eyelids fluttered open and John leaned forward slightly, smiling when hazel eyes focused weakly on him.

"P-ls…n-no m'r," Sam wheezed, a single tear falling from his eye as he tried in vain to pull away from John's touch.

John bit back tears as he gazed down at his broken son. "Oh, Sammy…you don't have to worry," he said softly. "It's me…the shifter's dead. You're safe now," he added as he placed a light kiss to Sam's forehead.

"N-no…d'nt" Sam cried softly.

Dean straightened now that Sam's ankles were free and moved into Sam's line of sight. "Hey…Sammy. It's over. The shifter is dead…this is really Dad," he said, his hand resting gently on Sam's arm.

Sam rolled his eyes to Dean and smiled weakly. "D'n?"

Dean smiled back and nodded his head. "Yeah, kiddo…it's me," he answered.

Sam sighed then returned his glazed eyes back to John. "D'd?" he whispered.

"It's me, Sammy. I'm here now," John whispered in reply.

Sam's eyelids slowly closed as he once again lost consciousness. John and Dean looked at each other then rushed to remove the ropes from Sam's chest. Once the ropes dropped free, Sam fell limply forward, John's strong arms catching the teen in a gentle hug. He held his son for several moments, before looking over to Dean and smiling sadly. "Dean, take your brother. We need to get him to a hospital now! I'll get the weapons," he instructed as he eased Sam into Dean's waiting arms.

Dean hefted Sam up, one arm under Sam's legs, the other across his back. Sam's head lay in the nook of Dean's neck as the young man swiftly moved toward the opening to the small room. He heard John's movements behind him, but didn't look back as he hurried down the tunnel toward the ladder that would lead them up to the alley above. He whispered softly to his brother as he worked his way through the winding tunnel, finally reaching the ladder then turning to wait for John.

John watched Dean as the young man took his brother from the room, then turned his attention to the dead creature at his feet. The skin of the shifter was already beginning to turn to a gelatinous goo, but the face remained largely intact. John knelt down and glared at the hated monster. He reached out his hand and gripped the shifters face, ripping the skin away with a growl and tossing it to the floor, leaving a gaping wound where the face once was.

"Not me," John hissed as he stood, gathered their weapons and hurried after his sons.

John reached the ladder within minutes and found Dean waiting there, Sam securely in his arms, the young man speaking quietly to the unconscious teen. He placed Dean's gun on the concrete floor then moved toward his sons. "I'll take him, Dean. You go up first then I'll hand him to you when I get to the top," he instructed as he reached for his youngest son.

"Be careful, Dad…I think he has some broken ribs…right side," Dean said as he carefully maneuvered Sam over John's shoulder.

"Okay, son," John answered. He held Sam firmly, yet gently and watched as Dean picked up his gun then started up the ladder.

Once Dean was at the top and through the manhole, John started up, the man grunting under the dead weight of his youngest son. He made it up then carefully moved Sam so Dean could grip him beneath his shoulders. Together, they got Sam out of the tunnel, both men breathing hard at the exertion. John hurried to the impala and opened the trunk, pulling blankets out then moving to the backseat where he fashioned a bed for Sam. Together he and Dean got Sam laid out on one blanket then Dean slid in, lifting Sam's head to rest on his leg. John laid the second blanket over Sam's fevered body then hurried to the driver's door and climbed inside. The impala rumbled to life when John turned the key and soon the black beauty was racing through the dark streets of Prescott on its way to the hospital where Sam would get the medical attention he desperately needed and the Winchesters just couldn't provide.

**X**

The room was quiet save for the soft sound of oxygen hissing through the tube that ran under Sam's nose and the steady beep of the heart monitor that was connected to tiny wires attached to electrodes on Sam's chest. John and Dean sat stoically beside Sam's bed, both hunters tired beyond words, but refusing to sleep while Sam remained unconscious. They took the coffee that the nurses offered whenever they came into the room to check on their patient, but refused the idea of going to the cafeteria or even the vending machines to get something to eat. Finally, one nurse had brought in a box of doughnuts from the floors breakroom and demanded that they eat before they passed out. Dean never took his eyes off Sam, not even for a second, and John…John could barely look at him, the guilt he felt every time he did eating him up inside.

The drive to the hospital had been frantic, Dean caressing Sam's hair and whispering to him that everything was going to be okay while John screamed inside his head, mentally ripping himself apart for allowing this to happen. He'd gone from berating himself to begging God to _"please don't take him from me too…please, God…don't do that…". _

They'd arrived at the hospital, John jumping from the still running car and bursting through the doors screaming for someone to help. Sam had been taken from Dean's reluctant arms and wheeled away behind doors where family was not allowed. He'd been out of their sight for three long hours, until finally his doctor…Dr. B. Anderson as noted on his nametag…had come to talk to them about Sam's condition. Dozens of lacerations, most not deep enough to require anything but bandaging, but some so deep they required stitches. One puncture near his navel had cut into muscle had become severely infected, while most of the other wounds had only the beginnings of infection. Three cracked ribs, thankfully none broken and serious swelling on his face. He had a bruised larynx, most likely caused by near strangulation if you considered the bruises around his neck. Then there were his fingers. Every single finger, including the thumbs had been broken. Each digit had to be reset and wrapped, then his hands wrapped to keep them protected.

The police had arrived to talk to the Winchesters sometime during the long wait. John had explained that when he and his older son had arrived home they had found the small house in shambles and Sam gone. They had tried to call him, but his phone was at the house. He had gone to look for Sam while his brother stayed home and maybe fifteen minutes after he'd come back they had heard a car stop outside then speed away. When they'd gone outside to investigate they had found Sam lying on the sidewalk in his current condition. They had bundled him up and raced to the hospital thinking it would take less time to do that than it would to call for an ambulance. The officers had seemingly believed their story since Sam's injuries were the same in nature as several other victims over the course of the last month, one of which had died. The Winchesters had of course known about the other victims, but they didn't the police know that. The police had told them they would be in touch and had left them to wait. Finally, they had been led to Sam's room where two chairs had been set up for them and they had sat down and had not moved since.

Sam had yet to regain consciousness. He'd remained perfectly still and quiet as the doctors and nurses worked on him, never uttering even the smallest of sounds…even when they reset his fingers. Dr. Anderson had assured the Winchesters once they had been allowed in Sam's room that though he was a very sick young man, he was strong and that barring any unforeseen complications, he should make a full recovery. When they had asked about his prolonged unconsciousness, Dr. Anderson had said that his body was exhausted and needed to sleep and that he would wake up when he was good and ready. He also indicated that the pain medication Sam had been given through his IV port was helping to keep him asleep as well. He had explained all of Sam's injuries and what they were doing to help him…antibiotics for the infections, ribs wrapped to keep them stable, his fingers being reset. It would take some time, but Sam would heal…at least physically. Mentally was a whole different story.

Dean sighed as he moved his chair closer to Sam's bed, his fingers reaching up to tenderly brush the hair from Sam's eyes. Sometime in the process of treating Sam, his hair had been washed and Dean was so thankful for that. John watched from his side of the bed and wished he could bring himself to touch Sam. He felt unworthy and a little afraid. He had brought this torture onto his son by not being thorough enough on the hunt then leaving Sam alone and unprotected while he went and got shit faced. Then there was the whole thing of the shifter wearing his face while torturing his son. What if Sam woke up while John was touching him? Would he freak out? Would he hurt himself trying to get away? John hoped that Sam had understood when they had told him the shifter was dead, but he couldn't be certain. Sam was in very rough shape and was barely coherent. He could very well wake up and not remember that the shifter had been killed. So, John kept his post beside Sam's bed, but left the comforting to Dean.

After several minutes of Dean brushing his fingers through Sam's hair and whispering in his ear that everything was okay and that he could wake up any time because Dad was boring and shit, Dean sat up and looked over at John. "We're gonna talk about what the shifter said…just as soon as Sammy wakes up and I'm sure he's okay," he said, his green eyes daring John to say no.

John swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat and slowly nodded. "Yeah…I think we need to," he said, then dropped his head and sighed.

**Okie dokie...that's it for now! I will work on the next chapter as much as I can over the coming week (though won't have much time). Then, I will be on vacation for two weeks! Two weeks off from BOTH jobs! Yay me :D I am hoping to finish this story in those two weeks. Please let me know what you think and to all of my USA friends...Happy 4th of July!**

**Cindy**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, okay...I know! It's been ages. Believe me, I know. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking this long to get this chapter up. The fates were plotting against me. Plus we went camping, and other stuff. I re-wrote this three times and still not 100% sure of it, but I really wanted to get it up before I head back to work after my two week vacation. I had planned on this being the final chapter, but that didn't work out. It is shorter than the other chapters so I apologize for that as well. Thanks for being patient guys! Now, on with the story.**

**Old Scars, New Wounds**

**Chapter 5**

It had been two days. Two long, harrowing days since Sam had been brought to the hospital. There'd been ups and downs…Sam waking for a few moments, smiling up at Dean before he succumbed to sleep again, then his fever spiking to dangerous heights due to increasing infections. His breathing had taken a turn for the worse and they were very near putting in a breathing tube when the fever finally started to come down and his breathing became less labored. Both of the older Winchesters had taken turns sleeping, neither able to keep up the Sammy watch without rest any longer. Sam hadn't woken again since that first time and both men were getting anxious about his prolonged sleep. Now, they sat vigil, just as they'd been doing for two days, waiting for Sam to finally wake up and stay awake.

Dean stretched his arms above his head and groaned as tight, sore muscles protested the move. He rose from his chair and glanced over at John. "I'm going to go down and grab us some grub," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. John nodded his approval, but didn't lift his eyes from Sam's face. Dean grunted then moved toward the door. He was gone maybe five minutes when Sam chose to re-emerge into the land of the living, his faint groan pulling John up from the chair, the rumpled hunter leaning over Sam without even thinking and carefully taking Sam's bandaged hand in his.

"That's it, Sammy…wake up now," John coaxed as bruised, still slightly swollen eyelids fluttered, then finally opened. "Hey, kiddo," John said when tired, hazel eyes focused on him, those eyes widening with fear when recognition dawned on the sick teenager.

"No! Get away! No more!" Sam screamed as he tried frantically to pull away from John.

"Sammy…it's me! It's Dad!" John cried as he let go of Sam's hand, fearful that Sam may re-injure his broken fingers.

"Please! No more!" Sam sobbed, his body twisting away from John in his attempt to get away. John reluctantly backed away from the bed, his hands raised to show Sam he meant no harm, but the boy continued to thrash and cry out. John, fearing Sam may really hurt himself, took a step toward the bed, but stopped when Sam's nurse rushed into the room and hurried to the other side of the bed.

"What's going on?!" the nurse cried as she looked from her nearly hysterical patient to his flustered father.

John shook his head and held his hands out before him. "I don't know. He woke up and just freaked out," he said as he stepped toward the bed, the movement causing Sam to cry out in alarm, his eyes wide with fear.

The nurse eyed John suspiciously and moved around the bed until she was standing in front of John, shielding Sam from his view. "Why does he seem so afraid of you?" she asked, her green eyes narrowed as she stared John down. "Do I need to call security?"

John dropped his hands to his sides and squared his shoulders, not happy with the way the nurse was looking at him. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I don't appreciate what you are insinuating, lady," he growled.

"All I know is this boy came into this hospital beaten and tortured and…"

"And my son and I gave our statement to the police on what we knew! If you think for one minute that I had anything to do with this then you need to spit it out because my son needs me and you're keeping me from him!"

"Your son appears to be scared to death to you," the nurse said evenly.

Sam whimpered from the bed behind the two and John decided that he'd had enough of this nonsense.

"Look, lady…I don't have time for this," John said as he attempted to move around the nurse. The woman was having nothing of it though and moved with him, keeping herself between he and Sam. John made another move forward, but the nurse brought her hands up and shoved them against John's chest. "Until I know what is going on, I can't let you near him, sir!" she cried.

"You aren't keeping me from my son! He's been through hell! He needs his father!" John hissed.

"And I'm not sure that it isn't you who did this to him, based on his reaction to you!" the nurse cried in response.

Behind them Sam cried out and both father and nurse turned to see the boy scrambling to get off the bed. Before either could make a move toward the teen, Dean burst through the door to Sam's room, the food he'd brought for he and his father now littering the hallway floor. He rushed to Sam's side and gently took his face in his hands. He turned Sam's head until the teen's eyes met his.

"Sammy…calm down, kiddo. You're okay…you're safe," Dean said softly as he moved one hand to card soothingly through Sam's hair. When Sam continued to whimper, Dean lowered the railing on his bed and sat down, then pulled his brother into his arms. "Shh…everything is going to be okay. I won't let anything else happen to you," he said, his green eyes moving to look at both his father and the nurse when Sam relaxed slightly into his arms. The two watched as Dean worked his magic and Sam slowly closed his eyes and fell asleep. When Dean was sure his brother was sleeping soundly, he narrowed his eyes onto the other two in the room.

"What the hell is going on?" he hissed, his fingers still carding through Sam's hair.

John took a step forward, the man glaring over at the nurse when she moved with him. "He woke up and freaked out. I think he must have been having a nightmare or something and he hadn't woken up fully due to the medications he's on," John started then shoved past the nurse and stepped up in front of Dean. "Nurse Ratchet over there accused me of being the one who hurt Sammy," he added gruffly.

"What?" Dean said as he turned his gaze onto the nurse. "Why would you think my dad hurt Sam?" he asked.

The nurse stepped forward and put her hands on her hips. "He seemed to be terrified of your father," the nurse explained. "I'm just doing my job."

Dean eased Sam down onto the bed then stood up and faced his father and the nurse. "Look, I appreciate you looking out for my brother, but you're way off base here. My father didn't hurt Sam. He would never do that," he said.

"You have to understand how this looked to me. Sam was trying to get away from your father."

"He was not in his right mind!" John hissed.

"Dad…step back. You're not helping," Dean said before turning his attention back to the nurse. "When my dad and I left Sam, he was fine. When we came home he was gone then whoever did this to him dumped him in the street in front of our house. He's been through a lot. If he was having a nightmare before he woke up, he may very well have been seeing the person who did this to him and not seeing my dad," he explained.

The nurse looked from Dean to John, then back to Dean. "Well…"

John took a step toward the nurse and shook his head. "Look…I understand how it must have looked and…and I do appreciate you feeling so protective of my son, but you have to realize…I would never hurt my boy. I would die for him…for both of my boys," he said.

The nurse watched John, her eyes meeting his. Finally, she nodded when what she saw in John's eyes told her that he was telling the truth. "I'm sorry I accused you. I've just never seen a patient react that way before," she said.

John merely nodded then turned back to his sons, thus ending the conversation. The nurse glanced over at Dean and received a shrug in return. She sighed then turned and left the room, leaving John and Dean to once again stand vigil beside Sam's bed. Both men found their chairs and took a seat on either side of the bed. Dean looked over at John and smiled tiredly.

"Well, I guess I'm not leaving the room again," he said. "I can't leave you alone for five minutes for pete's sake."

John shook his head and sighed wearily. "That was too close. I'm still not sure that nurse won't call the cops, or CPS, or…"

"She's not calling anyone, Dad, no thanks to your temper. You have to learn how to act in these situations," Dean snapped.

"I've never been in a situation like this! I've never had my baby look at me with terror in his eyes, Dean. Let me know how you feel if he ever looks at you that way," John snapped right back.

Dean eyed his father, surprised at the desperation he saw in the older man's eyes. He'd never seen John this way and it was a bit unnerving. He felt sympathy for the man. He didn't know how he'd take it if Sam ever looked at him that way. He shuddered just thinking about it.

"I'm sorry, Dad. He's not thinking straight right now, just like you said. It isn't you that he's afraid of…you know that right? He's just confused right now. He'll come around," he said.

John swiped his hand over his face and blew out a deep breath. "Yeah, I know. I just hope it's sooner rather than later," he said as he settled back in his chair and closed his eyes, not in sleep, but just unable to look at Sam without seeing the terror he'd seen in his eyes.

Dean sighed as his stomach rumbled and he suddenly remembered the food that was now scattered on the hallway floor. "Ah geez," he said as he too settled in, knowing that eating would have to wait a little while longer.

**X**

The next time Sam woke up, Dean was right there making sure his face was the first thing Sam saw. Tired hazel eyes stared up into wide green ones, then a small smile graced Sam's face as he reached out with bandaged fingers, which Dean carefully took in his hand. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said softly as he returned Sam's smile.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"I'm here," Dean responded. "How are you feeling?"

"I…uh…hurts," Sam answered softly.

"I know it does, kiddo," Dean said. He reached up and brushed the hair off of Sam's forehead and grinned when Sam rolled his eyes, albeit weakly.

John watched the scene from his chair with a sad smile on his face. He ached to be there with his sons, but did not want a repeat of the last time Sam woke up so he sat where he was and watched from the sidelines. He watched Dean fuss over Sam and Sam for the most part let him, which showed John just how badly his baby felt. The brothers talked in voices low enough that John couldn't hear what was being said, but then he heard something that made him sit up and hold his breath.

"Hey, Sam…do you remember what happened?" Dean asked as he glanced over at his father and met his eyes.

"Sh-shifter," Sam answered. "L-looked like D-Dad," he added shakily.

Dean wrapped his hand around the back of Sam's head and leaned in toward him. "Yeah, I know. You know it wasn't Dad though, right, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed and gazed up into his brother's eyes. "I know it wasn't…Dad wouldn't hurt me like that," he whispered.

"That's right…Dad would never hurt you, Sammy," Dean said in response. "We killed the shifter, Sam. You're safe now, okay?"

"It's dead?" Sam asked weakly.

"Yeah, kiddo…it's toast."

Sam rolled his head on his pillow and tracked his gaze to the window. "Good," he whispered.

Dean smiled then gently tugged Sam's hand, ever careful of his broken fingers. "Hey, Sam…uh…do you think you'd be ready to talk to Dad?" he asked when Sam looked back from the window to him.

John leaned forward in his chair and waited with bated breath for Sam to answer. He didn't have to wait long. He sucked in a breath when Sam rolled his head and looked straight at him. He saw a momentary flash of fear in Sam's eyes and his body tense before the boy relaxed and smiled weakly. "Hi, Dad," he said softly and that was all John needed. He was up and out of his chair and sitting on the edge of Sam's bed in a heartbeat. Sam flinched slightly when John reached up and patted his arm and John pulled back, not wanting to scare the boy.

"S-Sorry, Dad," Sam whispered as he moved his bandaged hand until it rested on John's knee.

"Ah, Sammy…don't you say sorry. You have nothin' to be sorry about," John said as he tenderly took Sam's hand.

Sam looked up at John and smiled sadly. "I do though," he said softly.

John cocked his head and frowned down at Sam. "Why would you say that? You couldn't have known that the shifter wasn't me," he said.

Sam shook his head and pulled his hand away. "Not that, Dad…that's not what I'm talking about," he said in reply.

"Then what, Sammy? What do you have to be sorry for?" John asked, his dark eyes meeting Dean's confused ones before returning to his youngest son.

Sam stared up at his father, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He swallowed back against the lump in his throat and let out a soft sigh. "For Mom…I'm sorry you and Dean lost her because of me," he whispered before turning his head away and closing his eyes.

John reeled back and jerked his eyes to Dean. He had secretly hoped that Sam wouldn't remember much of his ordeal, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. After their confrontation with the shifter, John knew that it must have said plenty to Sam when it had him. How much John could only imagine, but now he was going to find out…and so was Dean.

"Shit," John whispered as he dropped his head and prepared for the storm ahead.

**Well, that's it for now. I'm back to work on Monday, but it's the end of the month so I should have time to work on the next chapter in the mornings this coming week. Please let me know what you think :) Thanks for reading!**

**Cindy**


	6. Chapter 6

**So...I'm back at work and have spent the first three days back playing catch up. Today, however, I was all caught up and still had one day before the flood of work hits. Which means...I got to work on the next chapter...and not only work on it, but write it all from beginning to end. Yay!**

**Now, when you read this you will realize that I have gone AU. You will also realize that I really like to write angst (just as much as I like to write hurt Sam). **

**I want to thank everyone for their comments on the last chapter and for being so patient in waiting for that chapter to be posted. You are the best!**

**So...I won't bore you any longer...on with the story!**

**Cindy**

_Sam stared up at his father, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He swallowed back against the lump in his throat and let out a soft sigh. "For Mom…I'm sorry you and Dean lost her because of me," he whispered before turning his head away and closing his eyes._

_John reeled back and jerked his eyes to Dean. He had secretly hoped that Sam wouldn't remember much of his ordeal, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. After their confrontation with the shifter, John knew that it must have said plenty to Sam when it had him. How much John could only imagine, but now he was going to find out…and so was Dean._

"_Shit," John whispered as he dropped his head and prepared for the storm ahead._

**Old Scars, New Wounds**

**Chapter 6**

"Sammy," John breathed out, his eyes lifting to gaze upon his broken and battered son. Sam opened his eyes and slowly rolled his head toward John. John gave him a small smile, then he spoke. "Kiddo, don't say…"

"The shifter told me," Sam interrupted, his eyes and fingers suddenly searching for the button to raise the head of his bed. Dean gently pressed his hand back down to the bed then he pressed the button for Sam. Sam nodded when he was where he wished to be and smiled slightly when Dean sat on the bed beside him. He then looked back at his silent father, his smile dropping away as he continued. "It told me everything, Dad," he said.

"Sam…it was a monster and monsters lie. They want to do as much damage…physically and mentally…as they can. You can't believe everything they say, son…you know that," John explained as his heart hammered in his chest.

"Yeah, Sammy…Dad's right. You can't believe what that bastard told you…whatever it was," Dean offered, his green eyes searching his father's face then moving back to Sam. Sam, however, never removed his gaze from John.

Sam sighed, his eyes dropping to his lap as he bit at his lower lip. Finally, he spoke. "I know monsters lie, but…but I also know that shifters take a person's thoughts and they use them…and…"

"And they manipulate perfectly innocent thoughts to fit their agenda," John interjected. "Sammy, I don't know exactly what that son of a bitch said to you, but whatever it was…it was a lie."

Sam looked up at John with such sadness in his eyes that it nearly took John's breath away. "And I would believe that, Dad…except…," Sam's voice trembled as he stopped and lifted his eyes to once again meet his father's gaze.

"Except what, Sam?" John asked softly.

Sam took a deep breath to steady his nerves then slowly let the breath out. "Except after you came home from meeting up with your…friend…things were…things were different," he answered. "You were different…towards me," he added.

John glanced over at Dean and could see the question in his green eyes. He looked back at Sam and shook his head slightly. "Sam…I learned a lot from my contact. A lot about the thing that killed your mother. I had so much going on in my head and…"

"Dad…don't lie. Please don't lie to me," Sam pleaded. His eyes filled as John looked down at him. "You treated me differently. You've barely been able to look at me since you came back! You don't talk to me anymore…"

"Sammy…I was just overwhelmed and…"

"No! Just…please, Dad…tell me the truth. I deserve that at least…Dean deserves to know the truth!" Sam cried.

John took a deep breath. This was something he never wanted either of his sons to know about. He'd screwed up though. He hadn't been able to hide what he was feeling…at least not from Sam. He'd treated his son differently, not knowing how to act around him after what he'd found out. Of course now that the shifter had filled Sam in on, well, everything it appeared, it made sense that Sam would believe that the reason John had acted the way he did is because he blamed his son. Sam was the sensitive son, the one who took everything so personally. If John rode him harder than Dean, Sam believed it was because he didn't love him as much. He didn't understand that it was because John was so scared for him and he just wanted him to be able to protect himself if his father and brother weren't able to. Sam wasn't like John and Dean. Sure, he was a good fighter…good with the weapons and he was tough, but…but he was so sensitive and monsters pick up on that sort of thing…seeing it as a weakness. Like predators in the animal kingdom, if a monster sees weakness they tend to go right for it.

To John, Sam's sensitivity wasn't a weakness…it was a gift from his mother and John loved him so much for it, but it was also the thing that could get Sam killed…it was what made monsters so attracted to him. So John rode Sam hard and it drove a wedge between them that seemed to get bigger and wider every day. Harsh words would be exchanged and Sam would think even more that John preferred Dean over him and the cycle would continue because both father and son were so stubborn that neither would budge from their stance.

John let out his breath and looked at both sons before he finally spoke. "Sam…I know that I've been acting…different…distant even, but…but it doesn't mean that I blame you. The shifter lied, son. It manipulated my thoughts and…"

"Just say it, Dad!" Sam cried out. "It's true…I know it is! I know those fucking creatures lie, but most of their lies are based on truths! You think Mom died because of me! You think it's my fault! That trip you made to see your secret contact…he told you it was me, didn't he!? Why can't you just say it!?"

Sam sank back onto the bed, exhausted by his outburst, but his eyes remained bright and alert as he watched his father's face fall. Dean sat in shocked silence by his brother's side, but then he broke through the shock and spoke. "No, Sammy…don't say that. It isn't true…Dad knows it isn't true," he said, his green eyes turning to John as the man lowered his eyes and sighed. "Dad?" he whispered, a tendril of dread wrapping around his heart, making it difficult for him to breathe.

John took a deep breath and glanced at his oldest son. He then looked Sam in the eye and nodded. "The demon that killed your mother was there for you. She died trying to protect you," he said softly, the words falling from his mouth like poison. He watched as Sam wilted before him, the look of pain and betrayal in his baby's eyes causing a pain in his heart so intense it was as if a spear had just been run through him.

Sam stared up at his father in shock. He knew it was the truth, had seen it in John's eyes, but hearing it from his father's lips and not the creature who had pretended to be him was almost more than he could bear. Dean gasped beside him, but Sam couldn't take his eyes off John. The one thing he had feared to be true had just been confirmed. He was the reason his mother was dead. He was the reason Dean had grown up a soldier. He was the reason his father hurt so badly sometimes that he drank himself into oblivion.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Dad," Sam whispered before turning to his wide eyed brother. "Dean…I…I'm sorry. I took Mom away from you…I ruined your life. I ruined both of your lives." Sam dropped his head, chin to his chest, bandaged fingers fumbling for the wires and tubes connected to his body. He didn't deserve to be treated, to be made well. What the shifter had done to him had been deserved. He hadn't wanted to believe it was true, but couldn't deny it any longer. He flinched when he felt a hand on his face, but he didn't lift his head. He felt his father shift beside him and turned his head to see John peering down at him, his eyes filled with sorrow. Sam bit back tears, knowing that he was the reason for his father looking that way. John smiled softly and moved his hand to gently lift Sam's chin.

"You listen to me, Sammy," John said, his voice gruff, yet gentle. "You may have been who that bastard demon was there for, but you are not at fault for what happened. Not for any of it. Your mother did what I should have done…protect you…and I'm so damned sorry I was asleep downstairs when I should have been up with her…with you," he continued, his dark eyes bright with unshed tears.

Sam swallowed deeply as he looked up forlornly at John. "But, Dad…I…"

"No, Sam. This is where the shifter lied. I never blamed you, not once. What happened that night was not your fault and I don't want to hear another word to the contrary. The only one at fault was the son of a bitch who killed your mother. Is that clear?" John said.

Sam fought back tears as he gazed up at his father. "So, you never wished that I'd never been born?" he whispered breathlessly. "Or…or that I had died in the fire and not Mom?"

John let out a wounded cry and fought to keep control of his emotions. He so wanted to bring the shifter back so he could kill it all over again for putting these unthinkable things into his son's head. He shook his head as he cupped Sam's cheek. "Oh God, Sam. I'm so sorry," he said. "You listen to me. I have never wished for any of that. That is pure lies on the shifter's part. I loved your mom…so much, but Sammy…if I had to choose between you or her…as much as I loved her…still love her…it could never compare to how much I love you…or how much I love Dean. You are my boys…you are everything to me. I want you to believe that, Sam. If you would have died in that fire instead…I wouldn't have survived it. I love you, Sam and I don't ever want you to doubt that…no matter what. Okay?" he pleaded softly.

"Then why were you that way with me? Why were you always avoiding me?" Sam asked.

John shook his head and swore under his breath. It was a good question and one that he didn't have a good answer for. He rubbed his thumb over Sam's cheek and sighed. "Sammy…I know I didn't handle things very well when I came back. I was just so much in shock. I had always thought that it was a random thing…that whatever had killed your mother had just chosen us for no good reason. When I found out that it was somehow connected to you…I was terrified. I was so scared that I was going to lose you too that I shut you out. I really screwed that up and I'm sorry. Just know that I love you, kiddo and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

Sam nodded slowly as he sank into his father's touch. Dean sat on his other side, the youngest Winchester sandwiched safely between the older two. He watched his father as Sam asked the question he knew was coming next…the question that he wanted answered as much as his brother.

"What did your friend tell you, Dad? How does he know the demon was there for me?"

John looked down at Sam. The boy was obviously exhausted, but there was determination in his eyes. John wanted Sam to rest, but he knew that wouldn't happen until he told him what he wanted to know. John sighed and leaned back. He pulled his hand away from Sam's cheek and scrubbed in over his face. He glanced at Dean then back at Sam, and then he spoke.

"We aren't the only family this has happened to," John said. "We aren't the only ones this demon has visited."

"What?" Dean asked, his hand automatically reaching out to gently grasp Sam's wrist.

"Dad?" Sam said when John didn't continue.

John took a deep breath and finally continued. "There have been others. Some before…some around the same time as us…some after," he said.

"How do you know that?" Dean asked fearfully.

"My friend…another hunter…contacted me. He said he'd been seeing some things…things that seemed similar to what happened to us. He and Bobby Singer are the only hunters who know why I became a hunter," John answered.

"Like what?" Sam queried, his voice scratchy with exhaustion.

"Electrical storms…fires…deaths. When he checked into it further he found that each fire had occurred in the nursery of the home and…and it had occurred when the baby was exactly six months old."

"Like me," Sam whispered. Dean glanced down at Sam and gently squeezed his wrist. He smiled when Sam looked up at him as if to say that everything was going to be okay. Sam smiled back and relaxed against his pillow.

"Yes…like you. My friend did some digging and that's when he found out that it had been happening for years and in all of the cases, the mother had died. Most of the fathers had barely been able to escape with their baby so they hadn't seen anything, but…at least two of them have said that they were sure they saw someone in the nursery and that the person they saw had yellow eyes," John explained.

"Yellow eyes?" Dean asked as a shiver ran up his spine.

"Yeah. Of course, the police shrugged this off as nothing saying that it was because the fathers were in shock from losing their wives and since only the bodies of the mothers were found in the remains of the houses no investigations were conducted."

"So, a yellow eyed demon?" Sam asked warily.

John nodded as stood up from the bed and stretched his back. "Bobby is looking into that to see if there are any recordings of yellow eyed demons and what their significance is," he said.

Dean looked up at his father, his green eyes filled with worry. "Dad…how many hunters know about these fires?"

John cocked his head as he met Dean's gaze. "Just Bobby and my contact," he answered. "Why?"

"Are you sure? Those are the only two? And do you trust your…friend?"

"I'm sure and yes…I trust him. Why are you asking this?"

"Well…it's just that…"

"Dean…spit it out!" John snapped.

Dean looked down at Sam and let out his breath. He looked back up and bit his lip. Finally, he continued. "There are hunters out there who may…they may see the kids, the babies not as innocent victims. They may see them as something else."

John nodded and smiled reassuringly at Sam. "I thought about that, Dean. My friend isn't one of those hunters. He won't tell anyone else and you know Bobby won't," he said.

"Okay…great, but…what if other hunters start looking into these recent fires? What if they start connecting them to past fires…all the way back to us?" Dean asked.

"Dean…you're scaring your brother," John said as he moved back to the bed and patted Sam's knee when he saw Sam's eyes widen at Dean's questions.

"Oh shit…I'm sorry Sammy…I didn't mean to scare you. I just…"

"Are hunters going to come after me?" Sam asked softly.

"No, Sam. They aren't," John answered with a stern look in Dean's direction.

"But…if they…"

"There would be no reason for any other hunter to even notice these fires. They are spread out over the country and would not ring any bells to anyone other than Bobby and my contact. To anyone not privy to our story, they would just seem like tragic fires. Don't worry…either of you."

Dean nodded, his cheeks flushed with anger at himself for worrying his brother. The kid had enough on his plate right now, he certainly didn't need to worry about hunters coming for him. "Sammy…I was just being paranoid. If Dad says that there is nothing to worry about, then there is nothing to worry about. Sorry for scaring you, kiddo," he said.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said before he was overcome by a large yawn. His eyes drooped and John decided that they had talked enough for the day. Sam needed his rest and John was more than ready to forget about the topic at hand, at least for now. He knew this wouldn't be the end of it, but for now at least all he wanted to do was get his son well so they could get him out of the hospital and do a more comforting place…maybe Jim's place in Blue Earth or even Bobby's. He gazed down at his sleepy son and smiled.

"Go to sleep, kiddo. The more rest you get the faster we can break you out of this joint," John said as he affectionately ruffled Sam's hair.

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled as his eyes slowly drifted shut. Once he was soundly asleep, both John and Dean moved to their respective chairs and settled in. After a few minutes Dean glanced over at his father and cleared his throat.

"Dad," Dean said when John met his gaze.

"I know what you're going to say and you don't even need to worry about it. I will kill to protect Sammy, you have my word on that," John said before his son could continue.

"What if the threat is human? What then?" Dean asked.

"If by chance hunters find out about our secret and they come looking for Sam and mean him harm, I won't hesitate in taking them out," John said in reply. "Now get some sleep…you look like crap."

"Yeah…you don't look so great yourself, old man," Dean shot back with a slight grin.

"I suppose I don't," John said.

Dean nodded as his grin faded away. "I won't hesitate either, Dad…just so you know. Anything…or anyone who tries to hurt Sam is going to pay and I won't have any regrets about it either. Just thought you should know," he said, his green eyes narrowed with determination.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, son," John said with equal determination. "Now…get some sleep."

Dean nodded, looked at Sam to make sure he was okay, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. John smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes shifting to Sam. Though he was quite certain that no other hunters knew about their secret, John also knew that things sometimes had a way of getting out. He would have no qualms whatsoever in taking down a hunter if they came after his boy and he knew Dean wouldn't either. Who he worried about was Sam. It wouldn't matter to the boy if his life was in danger or not. He would feel guilty if his father or brother were forced to kill a human. He would blame himself somehow and that John just couldn't allow to happen. So John decided right then and there that if a threat arose of the hunter nature, he would take care of it without Sam even knowing there was a threat…hopefully. He and Dean would have to be diligent…even more so than they already were. They had enough to worry about without misinformed hunters getting into the mix. John shook his head as he watched his baby sleep.

"Don't you worry, Sammy…I won't let anyone or anything hurt you. I promise you that," John whispered as he settled in for another round of watching Sam.

**Okay...that's it for now. I hope you liked it :) I'm thinking one more chapter should finish this puppy up. Work load will start picking up tomorrow so I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the last chapter. Thanks all.**

**Cindy**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay guys...final chapter! Sorry it's been such a long wait. Things have been a bit crazy, but finally settling down...at least for a few days :D Thank you so much for all of you who have stuck with me on this. Your comments have been wonderful and so appreciated! So...without further ado...on with the story!**

**Cindy :)**

**Old Scars, New Wounds**

**Chapter 7**

Dr. B. Anderson smiled softly as he listened to the two Winchester brother's banter. They were a special pair…closer to each other than any other siblings he'd ever come in contact with. Dean, the elder brother, fussed over Sam, the younger of the two, like a mother hen and it was obvious that Sam was none too happy about it, or at least he wanted his older brother to think so, but Dr. Anderson wasn't fooled. From his vantage point, and the fact that the boys seemed to have forgotten that he was even in the room, Dr. Anderson could see the small smile that would curl Sam's lips every time Dean would look away. Sam complained and whined about his brother's doting, but it didn't take a genius to see how much it truly meant to him.

"Deeeaan…I can do it myself," Dr. Anderson heard Sam whine as Dean crouched down, attempting to put Sam's shoe on his foot. The doctor grinned knowingly to himself as the conversation continued.

"Yeah? And what if you pop a stitch, Sammy? What then?" Dean responded with equal irritation. Dr. Anderson chuckled as he watched Sam roll his eyes, something he'd seen on several occasions over the past few days as Sam healed and became more and more independent.

"I can put my own shoe on, Dean…I'm not going to pop a stitch, and even if I did, it's not like I'm gonna bleed to death," Sam spat as he tried to take the shoe away from Dean, only to have Dean pull it away and out of his reach. When Sam tried to jump up off the bed too quickly, Dr. Anderson felt it was time to step in.

"Hey, Sam…why don't you let Dean help you. I know you won't bleed to death, but if you do pop a stitch…however remotely possible that is…you could get an infection and we wouldn't want to see you end up back in here, now would we?" Dr. Anderson said as he approached the bed. He knew there was little chance of Sam popping a stitch, but he could see by the way Dean acted that he needed to do these small things for his brother. It almost seemed as if the older brother thrived on taking care of the younger one, like if that was taken away from him he wouldn't know how to function.

"Aw, Dr. Anderson…why do you have to take his side? Now he's gonna think it's okay to go to the bathroom with me too!" Sam whined indignantly.

"Um…I won't be going to the bathroom with you, Sam…that's just gross," Dean scoffed before he grinned up at Dr. Anderson. "I will hover outside the door though, so when nature calls…don't dawdle."

"Deeeaaaannn…"

"Okay you two. Time for me to take one last look at my patient before you leave," Dr. Anderson said with a chuckle.

Sam looked up with those wide eyes Dr. Anderson had become so used to and cocked his head. "But, you already checked me out this morning and said I was good to go," Sam said warily, as if he was expecting the doctor to say he had to stay another day.

"I know, Sam, and you are good to go. I just want to do a quick check before you leave and I want to make sure your family has all of the instructions for further care down."

Sam chuckled at that and glanced at Dean. "I'm pretty sure Dean has all of the instructions memorized by now and will be taking them to extremes as soon as we leave the building," he said with a hint of irritation.

"Well, good. You need to take it easy for the next few weeks," Dr. Anderson said as he moved in front of Sam and gently pulled his tee shirt up. He pulled the bandage away from the wound near Sam's navel to inspect it then replaced the bandage carefully. He then took Sam's hands and gently poked the exposed tip of each finger. "And you're going to need to have Dean help you with a lot of things until these fingers heal up enough to start physical therapy on them," he added.

"Oh man," Sam whined as he rolled his eyes.

Dean patted Sam's knee affectionately and sat down on the bed next to him. "Ah, it won't be so bad, Sammy. And don't worry…I won't tell anyone that you have to sit down to tinkle," he said with a wink.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, his cheeks immediately flushing a deep shade of pink. "God…sometimes you're such an ass!"

"Hey…you're the one who said you didn't want me in the bathroom with you. So, explain to me how you're going to "handle" things with your hands bundled up that way," Dean teased as he nudged Sam with his shoulder.

Sam glanced over at his brother, but Dean did not see what he expected to see…his little brother's patented bitch face. Instead, what he saw were two shining hazel eyes and a little brother who looked on the verge of tears. He turned and gently grasped Sam's arms and turned the younger boy slightly toward him, making sure that Sam kept his gaze. "Hey, kiddo…I was just joking around. I'm sorry…I was being a jerk," he said apologetically.

"It's not that," Sam said softly. The teenager lifted his hands and looked down at them before returning his gaze to Dean. "It's just that…everything is all screwed up now. I'm useless…c-can't do a damn thing with th-these," he stammered miserably.

"Hey…you are not useless, Sam! Don't you ever say that. This is just a bump in the road that we will get over…together. You and me and even Dad…got it?" Dean said softly yet sternly.

"But…I can't even turn a page in a book…or…or anything!" Sam cried.

"Then I'll turn the page for you…until you come up with some crazy way to do it yourself, you freakin' little genius nerd boy!" Dean answered. "Now I don't want to hear anymore of this you're useless crap, okay?"

Sam nodded and gave a small smile. "Sorry, Dean…I just…it's all a bit overwhelming," he said softly.

"I know, kiddo, but we'll get through it just fine…you'll see," Dean said in reply.

Both young men turned when Dr. Anderson cleared his throat and both seemed a bit embarrassed that they had forgotten the doctor was there and saw their little chick flick moment. Dean straightened up and squared his shoulders as he turned his full attention to the doctor. "Uh…yeah, doc…what is it?" he asked in as manly of a voice as he could muster.

"I just wanted to let Sam know that you are right, Dean," Dr. Anderson said before turning his attention to Sam. He smiled as the teen met his eyes. "Your brother is right, Sam. Your fingers are healing up real nice…a lot better than I had anticipated. A little physical therapy and you'll be back to normal in no time. Just don't get discouraged. It's going to be tough for awhile, but I have no doubt that your brother and father will be right there with you the entire way," he said.

"Thank you, Dr. Anderson…I know they will be," Sam said with a slight nod of his head.

The room fell into relative silence until a few moments later the door swung open and John stepped in. He narrowed his eyes a bit as he looked at each of the three occupants. "Uh…did I miss something?" he asked as he moved toward the bed.

Dr. Anderson stepped aside so John could be closer to his sons. "Nope…we were just going over a few things. I think Sam here is ready to get out of this place…right, Sam?" the doctor said with a grin.

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life!" Sam quipped as he scooted forward so that he could stand.

"Hey…hold up there, little doggie. You gotta wait for the wheelchair," Dean said, his hand gripping Sam's arm to keep him on the bed.

"Oh man! I don't need a wheelchair. I can walk just fine," Sam argued.

"Hospital policy I'm afraid," Dr. Anderson said, his dark eyes meeting Sam's hazel ones.

John chuckled as he moved toward the door. "I have the wheelchair out in the hall, Sammy. A few minutes in it isn't gonna kill you," he said. He opened the door and pulled the wheelchair into the room. He and Dean got Sam moved from the bed to the chair and within minutes they were headed down the hall toward the elevators with Dr. Anderson watching them as they went. Once they turned the corner out of his sight, the doctor smiled fondly then turned and walked the other way to make his rounds, already missing the small family, but thankful that they were relatively intact in spite of all they had been through.

**X X X X**

**Three Days Later**

Dean awoke, startled from a deep sleep, by what he didn't know. He glanced around the dark bedroom, his eyes still adjusting to the lack of light when he heard a crash from down the hall. He was out of bed in an instant and flicking on the light by the door. He looked over to Sam's bed, his stomach dropping when he saw no little brother sleeping soundly there. He rushed from the room in a panic then heard scuffling sounds and murmurs coming from the bathroom. He pushed open the door without knocking and rushed in when he saw Sam kneeled down on the floor, broken glass, a pill bottle and several white pills scattered around him.

"Sammy…what are you doing?" Dean asked as he made his way to his brother.

Sam looked up, eyes wide and glistening, the teen looking completely miserable. "I woke up and my hands hurt…was trying to get some Tylenol, but…I can't do anything!" Sam cried as he turned away and made an attempt to clean up the mess he'd made.

Dean knelt down and grasped Sam's wrists gently, then pulled him to his feet. "You're gonna cut yourself, kiddo. Let me get this cleaned up then we'll get you some pills, okay?" he said as he guided Sam down onto the closed toilet lid.

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but John's sudden appearance in the doorway had him slamming his mouth shut and involuntarily flinching before he dropped his eyes and muttered a soft apology. "What's going on?" John asked as he stood just outside the room, his dark eyes not missing the way Sam flinched when he arrived. "You okay, Sammy?" he added.

Sam looked up through long eyelashes and nodded. "I dropped them…stupid hands…" he said softly in reply before turning to watch as Dean carefully cleaned up the broken glass and pills.

"Hey…it's okay. You just have to give a little bit of time," John said as he moved into the small room.

Dean finished with the last of the mess then looked up at his brother. "If your hands were hurting, why didn't you wake me up? I would've gotten you the Tylenol," he asked.

Sam sighed and leaned back against the tank of the toilet. "I know you would've, Dean, but…I didn't want to wake you up. You've been taking care of me and not getting enough sleep and I thought…I thought I could do this one simple little thing, but I guess I can't! I can't do anything at all! I…"

"Hey, hey, hey…stop it, Sam!" Dean snapped as he moved toward his brother. "Like Dad said…you just have to give it a little bit of time. Your fingers will heal Sam and then we'll start doing the exercises that Dr. Anderson showed us. You need to be patient."

"That's easy for you guys to say!" Sam cried. "How would you like it if you couldn't even take a shower…or pick up book to read…or…or…oh, nevermind. Neither one of you would've gotten yourself into this mess in the first place. It's my own fault for being so stupid."

Sam turned his head away from his family in shame. Dean and John shared a glance before John stepped up beside his youngest son and knelt down. He reached out and gently turned Sam's face toward him, once again ignoring the slight flinch his touch caused. "Look at me, Sam," he said when Sam kept his head lowered, refusing to meet his father's gaze. Sam slowly did as he was told and looked up at John. John smiled slightly when their eyes met.

"Sam…you are far from stupid. You had no way of knowing that wasn't me and none of this is your fault," John said as he watched Sam. He could tell by the look in Sam's eyes that the teen didn't believe him. He scrubbed his hand over his face and through his hair and wondered if they would ever get through this. "Sam…"

"I should've known, Dad. I let you…it…in and didn't…"

"And how could you have known? Because I've never come home skunk ass drunk before and treated you like crap?" John interrupted as he cast a quick glance to Dean who sat quietly on the floor nervously watching the exchange. John turned his eyes back to Sam and sighed. "Oh wait…I've done that more times than any of us can count," he added, his voice taking on an air of shame as he dropped his eyes.

"Dad…I…I understand. I mean, I get it…why you have to…"

"I don't even understand it, Sammy. It's hard, yes…very hard when I think about your mother, but…I shouldn't handle it the way I do. I just shouldn't…and you shouldn't have to be scared every time one of those days comes around," John sadly said. He squared his shoulders after a moment and once again looked at his son. "And you certainly shouldn't be blaming yourself for something that happened to you because I failed to do my job."

"Dad…no," Sam said as he now leaned forward to offer his father support. "You didn't know there were two of them…how could you have?" he asked.

John looked at his son and smiled, his heart filled with love for the sometimes pain in the ass teenager. "Kiddo, I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not the other way around," he said with a slight chuckle.

Sam shrugged and glanced at his brother before returning his gaze to John. "Well, you shouldn't be blaming yourself for what happened, Dad. You had no way of knowing there were two shifters. I on the other hand should have been able to tell that something was wrong. I mean, that's what all the training has been for, right?"

"Sam…"

"I heard you all talking…you, Dean and Bobby. There's a hunt in Montana…you guys should go…leave me here with Bobby," Sam said softly.

"No, Sam…we're not leaving you here to go on some hunt," Dean said.

Sam looked over at Dean and shrugged. "Why not? You've done it plenty of times before when you thought I'd be in the way so how is this any different?" he asked.

"Sam, there are other hunters able to take this job. We're staying here with you," John said.

"Yeah, but you're the best. And since when has it ever mattered that there were other hunters available?"

John sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor. When he finally lifted them and looked at Sam there was such sadness in them that Sam nearly gasped. John reached out his hand and tenderly grasped Sam's arm. "Since nearly losing you opened my eyes to the fact that I've been neglecting what means the most to me in this world, Sammy…you and your brother," he said solemnly. "I've put the hunt before you and your brother for far too long. You need to take it easy until you are healed and I need to be here with you. Caleb and Josh can take the hunt in Montana…besides, Bobby has a lot that needs to be done around this place and he's getting up there in years…wouldn't want him to break a hip," he added with a chuckle.

Sam bit at his lower lip, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Really? You really would rather stay here with me than go on a hunt?" he asked cautiously.

John swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, the hopeful look in his youngest son's eyes breaking his heart. When had he become this person? When had he become the kind of father whose own son couldn't believe it when he said he was putting him first? Mary must be so proud, he thought as he wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him to his chest.

"Really, Sammy. There is no place I'd rather be than here with my boys," John said with a slight hitch in his voice. He hugged Sam close for several moments, relishing how the teen melted into him, before he gently pushed away. "Now, let's get you some Tylenol for those hands then it's back to bed for the both of you," he sternly said.

Sam smiled sadly, his eyes wide and glistening. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Sorry for what, Sam?" John asked with confusion.

Sam glanced over at Dean, who watched him with confusion equal to his father, then turned back to John. "I'm sorry for not being the son you've wanted me to be and…and for mom. If it weren't for me, she'd probably still be alive," he replied broken heartedly.

John bit back a cry and looked over to meet Dean's shocked face. He looked back at Sam and shook his head. "Sam…you are in no way responsible for what happened to your mother and I don't want to ever have this conversation again, okay?" he sternly said.

Sam bit back tears as he stared up at his father. "Okay," he whispered.

John nodded his approval then rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. "And another thing, kiddo…you are exactly the son I want you to be. I wouldn't have you any other way," he said.

"But…"

"But nothing, Sam. You drive me crazy sometimes, but your questions always make me think. I may not tell you this, but your questioning, no matter how much it drives me nuts, has helped me on a lot of hunts. It's made me look at things from a different perspective," John said.

Sam cocked his head as he cautiously eyed his father. "Then, why do you get so mad at me?" he innocently asked.

John shook his head as he sat back on his heels. "It's not you I'm mad at, Sam…it just seems that way I guess. I'm mad that I didn't see what you did. I've been doing this a lot longer than you have and I should be able to see the different angles of it like you do. I get it in my head what I'm dealing with and then you come in and say that it could be this or it could be that and then I get mad, but then I stop and think and it's like…why didn't I think of that?"

"You've never told me that, Dad. I've just always thought that…"

"Another reason why I won't ever win Father of the Year, kiddo. I should have given you credit when you've deserved it and I'm sorry that I haven't," John interrupted. "Can you ever forgive your old man?" he asked.

Sam smiled softly and nodded. "Nothing to forgive, Dad," he said.

John's heart swelled as he looked from his youngest son to his oldest. "I love you boys so much," he said with a crack in his voice.

"Love you too, Dad," the brothers said together.

John smiled then pushed to his feet. "Dean, get your brother some Tylenol then you two get back to bed…neither one of you have gotten enough rest these past weeks," he commanded as he stepped out into the hallway.

"Yes, sir," Dean responded. He stood and dumped two pills out of the nearly empty bottle then grabbed another glass from the shelf above the sink. He filled the glass then helped Sam take the pills. John nodded approvingly then started down the hallway toward the stairs, but stopped when he saw someone blocking his path.

"Bobby…sorry for waking you up," John said apologetically. "I'm heading down to put on some coffee…won't be getting any more sleep tonight," he added when Bobby raised one eyebrow and cocked his head questioningly.

"How's the kid?" Bobby asked as he watched Dean and Sam come out of the bathroom, the elder brother walking close, but allowing his younger brother the independence he so wanted. John turned and watched as his boys disappeared into their bedroom, a soft smile on his lips.

"He's getting there I suppose. Still flinches sometimes when I talk or touch him, but he's getting better. This whole thing really messed him up. The things it said to him that he still believes," John said, his voice trailing off when his thoughts turned to what his baby boy had gone through. He turned when he felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder.

"Like you said, Johnny…he's getting there. It's just gonna take some time and a whole lot of reassuring on your part," Bobby said knowingly. "Now, you git in there with your boys until they're settled. I'll go git the coffee on," he commanded.

"You should go back to bed, Bobby. No reason for you to be up this early," John countered guiltily.

"Nonsense. You need to be in there with them right now and I'm not gonna get back to sleep anyway. Go…be with your boys."

"Thanks, Bobby…for everything," John said with an appreciative smile.

"Just git in there ya damn idjit!" Bobby snapped gruffly as he turned away and headed for the stairs, the older man mumbling under his breath about what John could only imagine. John chuckled to himself and headed toward the boy's room. Bobby stopped at the top of the stairs and turned just in time to see his friend disappear into the room and shut the door. He nodded approvingly as he headed down to the kitchen. John was finally putting his boys first and though Bobby knew that sooner or later the small family would be back in the hunting business, for right now they were just being a family and that was what they all needed the most.

"Bout damn time," Bobby said as he slowly descended the steps to start a brand new day.

**THE END**

**Well folks...that's all she wrote! And by she I mean me ;) I hope you liked the ending...maybe a bit too sappy? I don't know...that's how I saw it in my head so that's what I wrote! Please let me know what you think and I'll start thinking about my next story! Thank you all so much for reading and taking the time to comment. It really does keep me going! Love to you all 3**

**Cindy**


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